True as the Sky is Blue
by DaeDreemer
Summary: AU. Future Fic. The second time around, you make it count.
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own the characters/plots of "Gossip Girl."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: Hello, just some quick background on this fic. It's AU, future setting and is set on the premise that Serena was away at boarding school for the entirety of her junior year. It sets major events of both S1 (NS revelation, DS, CB, VdB wedding) and S2 (continued CB & DS, Bart's death, Vanderbilt drama, NB again) in their senior year of high school. S3 did not happen, the prologue will skim the year after high school and beyond.

* * *

The day Blair Waldorf marries Nate Archibald, Serena van der Woodsen wakes up with phantom nausea— or at least that's what she calls it; it's sensations she won't identify, won't consider. She let's them roll over her, fill her up inside, haunt her steps, but she will not _name _them.

She spends two hours of the morning curled on the floor beside the toilet, head in her hands, knees under her chin and thoughts resolutely fixed on her bridesmaid dress; her _maid-of-honor _dress, to be more precise. The deep hue of blue it is, the elegance of the sweetheart cut, the careful beading on the hem, the silver accented sash, the softness of the silk and the way it suits her perfectly— was made for her, literally; the way it highlights her very best attributes, gives testament to her height and poise and makes her look effortlessly _stunning._ She replays every moment of buying the dress, every smile on Blair's face, every laugh they'd shared, every arched eyebrow the attendants had exchanged as the exacting bride demanded couture dress after couture dress, declaring each one _"not enough." _

And she remembers, replays with unrelenting focus, the ferocity, the sincerity, in Blair's voice, her best friend's voice, when she'd said, _"I want you to look amazing, S." _

* * *

By the time Serena dons the dress, walks down the velvet covered aisle, veers slightly to the left, and turns around to wait for Blair, she's managed to stamp down any and all… nausea.

* * *

There's no doubt the wedding is the event of the season. There's a photograph in Page Six, of a laughing Nate gazing down at his beaming bride as she tilts her face towards his – it's beautiful, perfect.

And more than that, it's real.

* * *

Serena dances at the wedding reception, drinks a little too much (but not _too-_too much, never at a wedding, never again), and twirls on the dance floor with long-legged grace; she laughs with the abandon that infuses her every breath and wraps her arms around the neck of every partner she has, gazes deeply into each set of eyes (black, brown, green, even blue), and drinks in the admiration and lust and sometimes even awe she sees there.

And it is enough (it _is) _and she has fun (she _does)_.

* * *

High school was a convoluted knot of love and pain that spilled out from inside them, over each other and everyone in their vicinity; it was tears and shouts and betrayals, it seared the ground their friendships rested on, broke boundaries, crossed lines, left jagged edges and broken shards, branded their souls with marks they'd never really forget and then— it was over.

It ended with scorched earth and new lines; shifted perspectives and friendships growing anew.

* * *

There's a phone-call – Manhattan to Rhode Island, early-on while the earth under their feet is still smoldering; it's infused with quiet, determination and held-back tears:

_"We can't—I can't do this anymore." _  
_"What happened? Are you—" _  
_"We're not cut out for this… we're over."_  
_"Are you sure, B? You and Chuck—"_  
_"It's too much, more than I can afford to— yes. I am…yes, I'm sure." _

* * *

Serena goes to Brown and among other things, spends six years in and out of that institution until they finally agree to give her a diploma.

Blair's enrollment at NYU, and the entirety of her relationship with Chuck, lasts for one semester– before she transfers to Yale she graduates with honors, a year early, and takes the year to pad her already impressive resume by coordinating and managing various charity projects around globe – because one never knows when they'll need favorable public opinion.

Nate heads to California and he stays there, new friends and new interests; he graduates on time – without any familial approval.

Chuck becomes the boy-CEO his father's death necessitates, drifts around the world, anchored only dimly to the city where he was born; somewhere along the line, between then and now, he gets a degree and an MBA and becomes a powerhouse in his own right.

* * *

It all feels strangely anticlimactic, life after high school.

There's only civility between them at first but there's genuine laughter next and honest conversation soon after that; it was easy and hard, it was life spinning away from them - them growing-up.

And somehow they managed to do it alone but together.

* * *

Serena dances with Chuck towards the end of the wedding reception. They fall into an easy stance together, perfect form, learned in shared lessons over a dozen years ago.

They follow the rhythm of the floor, pressed together, in-sync. She doesn't laugh and she doesn't look into his eyes and she doubts very much he notices.

* * *

It's college graduation that sends Nate back to New York City from across the country, that tugs Blair to city law firms, that draws Serena back like the flame it is; and that is all it takes.

Just like that – it's fragments of their childhood all over again; flimsy at first, wavering, and then stronger, steadier – drinks and movies and dinner and three people that once loved each other so well, so true, they got mixed-up, tangled together in it, lost themselves in the mess of it.

* * *

Nate and Blair go to Greece for their honeymoon. Serena had helped Blair pick out the hotel over coffee and croissants one morning.

It's a gorgeous place overlooking the water with balconies to watch the sunrise on.

* * *

Chuck tiptoes around them as they get reacquainted, keeps himself at an involved distance. Blair references it on occasion, his absences and silences and how he should take breaks, come out with them more - and that alone is what marks a long ago phone-call as truth.

All those years ago, Blair had been sure and still to this day Serena doesn't know what her best friend couldn't afford.

* * *

The photographer poses all the bridesmaids with the groom; and Serena keeps her smile bright, wide_,_when Nate slips an arm around her waist and whispers, _"let's make it a good one," _in her ear; his eyes glimmering with laughter and his smile joking and easy.

She smiles because it's all good; this is good. Their life is good.

* * *

There was one moment.

One.

An entire year before the idea of a Waldorf-Archibald wedding would rise, phoenix-like, from the ashes of their childhood.

Blair had had to work late, had canceled on their movie and Serena and Nate had gone without her; sat in the back, shared raisinet's and twizzler's and a cup of soda with one straw; laughed together and fallen silent together. She'd leaned into his shoulder and he'd wrapped his arm around her and when the movie had ended and the theatre emptied they'd stayed in their seats.

He'd looked at her, smiling, hair awry and eyes bright; and she'd smiled back, _beamed,_ warm and cuddled against him, had lost herself in that moment, tilted her face towards him, eyes closing. His lips had touched hers, carefully at first, then less so, firmer, bolder, moving with hers, tasting her,_remembering_ her. His arms had tightened, had pulled her closer and she'd lifted a hand, touched his face, opened her eyes to look into his, breathless and pliant and sinking into love and it had drifted through her thoughts, unbidden, unexpected, the first of its kind in so very long: _I hope they were his eyes, I hope the baby had—_

Her breath had caught in her throat at the thought, a gaspy sound that had startled him; she'd gone pale, tense all over, goosebump's prickling her skin and heart pounding in her chest, had jerked back away from him, shot up from her seat and left the theatre in a rush, without another word.

She would never say a word.

* * *

Nate had called after her; he'd run after, shouted her name and to stop and to wait and she'd caught the first flight to the farthest place she could go to that very night.

* * *

Serena hadn't meant to issue a statement – but she had.

She'd stayed away for three months that time, nothing really (the first time she had run from him, from_them, _she'd stayed away for an entire year).

But they weren't fifteen or seventeen anymore, and statements resounded more loudly, were felt more clearly, were taken with more resolve.

She had run and he had been left and Blair had stayed – that was the lay of the land, it always had been, and neither shifted perspectives nor re-arranged lines nor freshly blooming friendships had changed it.

And Nate, Nate had accepted that.

* * *

Nate proposes to Blair on a winter's day, beside a lake, with a ring he buys on his non-profit program coordinator's salary. She says yeah not yes and giggles against his mouth when they kiss.

They aren't exactly dating and they aren't exactly madly in love. What they are is two people who love each, understand each other; who know each other at their best and their worst and everything _almost_and _in-between_ there can be – and they still wanted to spend every day of the rest of their lives together.

* * *

Amelia Eleanor Archibald is born not quite eight months after her parent's marriage. The gossip is discreet and snuffed out by a few well placed words from a certain Great-Grandfather.

She has soft fuzzy brown hair and big baby blue eyes and Serena holds her tenderly and coos and all together does a fabulous job of not _thinking _until Blair smiles tiredly at her and asks, _"Would you be her godmother?" _in a soft tone.

Such simple words but they unhinge something inside her; the grief wells up abruptly, hot and stifling and it brings tears to her eyes and sob to her throat and she shakes her head, feels panic following on the heels of grief because doesn't want to ruin this moment, _won't _ruin it; she looks away, holds the tiny, precious _baby _just a little closer, lowers her face into the fabric of the baby blanket.

Blair slinks towards her on the bed, wraps an arm lazily around Serena's waist and presses her cheek into the blonde's leg, looks up at her with wide, understanding brown eyes. There are things they don't talk about, things they don't need words for anymore.

Amelia wiggles in Serena's hold and the blonde lifts her head a little, forces herself to breathe, to push the panic and grief away, underneath, bury it under the sight of waving little fists and blinking baby blues. _"She's beautiful." _She whispers through a tight throat, tries to smile down at Blair, lifts a hand to wipe at her cheek.

And Blair nods against Serena's leg, slides an arm around her waist and squeezes her sister in a hug,_"Be her godmother, we'll share her." _

* * *

It's the easiest heartbreaking thing she's ever done – holding baby Amelia Archibald, donned in her gold and white christening dress, and becoming her godmother.

* * *

Blair hugs her tight afterwards; Nate kisses her cheek – and they are glowing so brightly, faces turned towards each other, eyes on their newborn daughter, that it hurts to look directly at them.

Serena does it anyway.

* * *

She weaves her life around theirs – flies the world over for magazines and ads, a blur of wide of smiles, hair flips, and martini glasses that only ever pauses long enough for Amelia's birthday parties or Blair's nationally lauded cases or Nate's firm holding a gala.

Sought after and fawned over, she's as golden as she's ever been, spinning bright and fast in an industry that chants _not enough, not enough, notenough _in everyone's ear. They become her anchor— a quiet home with fondly exasperated glances and bright baby giggles, perfect table settings and six ESPN channels; her sanity, where everything is still and painfully heartbreakingly breathtakinglyjoyously real.

But who wants to be sane, still, _real _for long anyway?

* * *

The accident isn't her fault—

* * *

There are four people in the car with her, two of them die on impact, one will never walk again, the other will heal, and she— she'll heal too, mostly.

* * *

— it's the fault of an Italian autostrada, slick with rain, and another driver whose had two shots too many. The car slides, the breaks screech, lights blur, metal howls, and the spinning stops.

Everything is real.

* * *

.tbc.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

"Come on, baby. Calm down. It's okay, shhh… it's okay, please, shhh," Blair bounces Amelia in her arms, shoots a glance across the waiting room at Nate. He's standing with his back to them, finalizing the hospital paperwork before their trip home.

Amelia is cranky and restless, throwing a mini-tantrum in her arms; and Blair's too exhausted to do anything she's read in parenting books, can just barely manage at attempting to soothe and begging her to stop.

Nate looks over when Amelia wails, watches the little girl fling herself backwards in Blair's hold. The terrible twos were in full swing and this stressful, sleepless, sojourn overseas hadn't helped Amelia's temper.

He finishes setting his signature across the bottom of the pages, gives the secretary a wan smile when she thanks him, and then turns back towards his family.

"Hey, hey…" he murmurs, approaching them. He rubs softly at the little girl's back, puts another hand to Blair's arm.

She gives him a tired look. They're wearing jeans, his with a t-shirt, hers with a sleeveless blouse; she's make-up less, wearing flats and he's pretty sure the last time he shaved was the three days ago. "She's tired, fighting sleep," she tells him, shifts the toddler in her arms. Amelia's sniveling now, her face pressed into Blair's neck, a little hand lost in Blair's loose hair.

Blair motions with her chin, down the hall. "Go check if she's okay, will you? While I get Mia down?" She rocks the little girl slowly. "I don't want her to give Serena a headache if she cries again…"

Nate nods; smoothes Mia's hair gently. She blinks sleepy blue eyes at him, sniffles, and mumbles, "Daaa…" woefully.

"It's okay, baby," he soothes, "Just go to sleep now..." He meets Blair's gaze and she gives him a tiny smile. They were in the home stretch now; just had to hang in there for another day and then Serena would be home with them and they'd be able to breathe again.

Nate returns the small smile and then turns around, heads towards Serena's room.

* * *

Serena is sitting up straight on her bed, legs hanging off the side, her bare feet flat against the cold tile; still in her hospital gown, holding a handheld mirror in her hands, gaze fixed on the girl reflected there.

There are bruises, cuts, abrasions, on her legs, arms, face – all over her body. Some would scar, some wouldn't. A plastic surgeon (premier, of course) had already been alerted. Nerve damage to her right side, physical therapy for six months (with a renowned therapist, of course) and they'd work from there. The head trauma had been… worrisome; anti-seizure medications would be a part of her life for the foreseeable future. They'd shaved a section of her hair; she notes dully, she should probably get her hair cut.

_Lucky_ - the doctors, nurses, kept batting the word around. Lucky. She could be worse off – like Amber. She could be dead – like Robin or Sam. A haircut. Physical therapy. Minor plastic surgery. Nothing else to be done. Nothing else could be fixed.

The door opens and she slams the lid down tight on her thoughts, looks up.

Nate.

"Hey…" he says, smiles warmly at her.

She'd woken up to Nate pressing kisses against her closed eyelids. "Hi," she replies softly.

"We're leaving today," he reminds her, shuts the door behind him and moves to sit next to her on the bed.

She'd blinked at him, vision hazy, thoughts jumbled, body uncooperative, and for an instant, a breaths-time, she'd thought he was hers. "I know," she smiles a little.

He takes the mirror from her hands, sets it aside on the night table. "Serena—"

"I was just looking." She interrupts before he can add anything else, "Just looking." Blair had been holding her hand, cheek pressed to the top of it; he wasn't hers anymore.

His arm comes around her shoulders very gently, a soft kiss to her temple. "You're still beautiful."

Maybe he'd never been hers. "Silver tongue," she murmurs, but it falls flat of a tease.

"How're you feeling?" He prods, moves his arm and shifts to look at her critically.

She's still too pale, she knows; the bruises and scrapes standing out garishly on her skin. "I'm okay." She looks at him, "I really don't think it's necessary for—"

"Ten days or deal's off, Serena," he interrupts, steel lining his voice. He picked that tone up from Blair, she's sure.

"I've had enough of hospitals," she mutters. "I miss sheets that don't scratch."

He takes one of her hands carefully into both his; that's how he's been touching her lately, like she could break. "Coma, three days," he says very seriously and there's only Nate in his tone, earnest and kind.

Serena sighs softly, "Two weeks ago." It's not that she feels great, far from it. She aches all over, can't stand without shaking, and can barely lift a glass of water; her head spins if she turns too fast and her vision blurs if she's awake too long – she feels barely human.

She just doesn't want to go to another hospital; doesn't want more tests, doesn't want to listen to doctors anymore.

"The hospital in New York will have sheets that don't scratch, I promise." Nate offers sweetly.

And she swallows hard, feels teary suddenly; a too frequent occurrence lately. "Nate, I—" she stops, lowers her head. She wants this all to go away.

He doesn't need her to go on; his arm goes around her again, "I know." The kiss he presses against her hair lingers and she shuts her eyes, turns into him a little; feels tired. She's always tired.

"Where's Blair?" She mumbles against his chest.

"Trying to get Mia to nap."

"Amelia Badelia…" She smiles a little. She'd gotten Mia all the young Amelia Badelia books a few months ago. The little girl wasn't quite at the point where she would hold still long enough to be read to you yet, but almost. They were all stock piling series of books in preparation.

Nate laughs a little. "Now you can read them to her."

Serena nods very slowly, so it doesn't hurt her head. She's going to stay with them indefinitely, they'd decided, after her stay at the hospital in New York. And she's mostly too tired to argue it with them. Maybe later.

"Do you want to lie down until she comes? We have some time. _You _could nap." He teases lightly.

She's drifting off already, she knows that he knows that. She tilts her head back a tiny bit, peers at him through lowered lashes, soft smile still on her lips. "Hmm…"

His smile to her is sweet, loving; the way, she knows, hers is to him. They love each other, they all do – that's always been the problem.

He shifts her head gently to his shoulder and then lowers her down to the bed, lifts her legs gently and drapes the blanket over her.

She's drifting into sleep and it feels like he's putting a kiss to her forehead, but she can't be sure.

* * *

Blair smiles a little as she nudges the door open with her hip, watches Nate tuck Serena in.

"How's she doing?" She wonders softly when Nate straightens from the kiss. There's been a lot of kissing in the past two weeks; touching. She doesn't begrudge, she's been doing it too; kissing and hugging and just _feeling _her, because she's here, with them, and she almost wasn't.

Nate turns to her with a shrug, a tiny frown between his brows, "I don't… know," he admits. "She's… quiet. Not… Serena-like."

He moves towards her then, shuts the door behind her and Blair goes to the sofa; sits down and lays a sleeping Mia down on her lap. "It might be a long time, Nate," she says softly, her eyes on Serena as she smoothes Mia's soft hair between her fingers, "A very long time… she's – Serena-like again." Her eyes sting suddenly and she moves her gaze to him, blinks back a sudden rush of tears, "If ever."

Nate's jaw clenches, "She's going to be fine. Nothing's changed. She's still _Serena._"

He says that the way he's always said it, _Serena, _with that touch of awe that used to drive Blair crazy, pummel her with jealousy and insecurity so she could hardly see or hear anything beyond that green and red haze; until she realized, she did it too. They all did – "he's_ Nate," _"that's_ Chuck,"_ "she's_ Blair," –_they carried a magic to each other, all their own.

"I know," she says quietly, believes it with all her heart. "But she might…" her gaze drifts back to Serena, "You understand…" she whispers to Nate, "You have to. Why she might not feel the same way…" she trails off.

"Did she even want—"

"The possibility."

Nate sighs, rubs a hand over his face and paces in front of her bed. "I just…" he stops abruptly, meets Blair's gaze. "I want to get her away from here; from the news and the reporters and… _this city." _Where her friends had died.

Blair nods, once, decisively. "That's the plan."

"Then we can… we can see about her…" he says somberly, isn't talking about her physical recovery. "We can help her… nothing's changed."

Blair's throat tightens. "Nate," she whispers, "You know that's not true." She brushes back hair from her face, pushes the words out, "Even without the physical trauma, there's…" she trails off, doesn't want to imagine the accident and Serena bleeding and conscious enough to know-

"We'll do everything we can to help her," she finishes quietly, cuts the thought off with a firm nod. "But we have to be ready for her… to be different."

Nate turns around, looks at Serena again. "Should we let her sleep?" End of conversation.

Blair sighs very softly, "We could."

"We have the time," he continues, "It's Chuck's jet."

She frowns a little, "I thought Lily and Eric took that back?" They'd left earlier that morning.

"That was the _Bass_ jet," Nate corrects with a slight smirk, "This is one of his personal jets."

"Oh, that was nice of him," Blair murmurs noncommittally, then settles back against the sofa. "Let's give her another hour then. Mia too."

He turns back to her. "And us?"

She rolls her eyes a tiny bit, pats the spot next to her; and he moves to her, slides in beside her, arm around her waist and face pressing into her hair.

He's done that a lot lately, a quiet way of giving and seeking comfort, and she turns into him a little, keeps her gaze on Serena.

She could change, most certainly would, but Blair's going to make _sure, _Serena keeps her magic.

* * *

Serena wakes up to Blair's soft hands on her face and her voice whispering _sweetie _and _wake-up now. _

She smiles drowsily and Blair puts a kiss to the tip of her nose.

"How long?" She mumbles, lifts a hand slowly to her face.

"One hour and fifteen minute." Blair tells her promptly. She's in the bed with Serena, lying all along her side, their feet intertwined, but she's sure Serena hasn't noticed yet.

"Hmm," she murmurs, feels her eyes start to slip shut again.

"Need you to stay awake, S." Blair whispers right into her ear.

Serena turns her head to her without opening her eyes. "What _for?_"

"Open your eyes and I'll show you."

"There's nothing I want to see," she whispers back.

Blair finds Serena's hand in the blankets, squeezes it. "We're going home today, remember?"

Serena doesn't respond for a beat and then, "I remember."

Blair swallows back words of comfort – _It's going to be okay, It'll get better, It could be worse. _She knows they're hollow; she's seen the look in Serena's eyes when Lily said them, when Eric implied them, when Chuck whispered them.

"I love you," she says instead.

And Serena's perfectly still for a moment, before her lashes flutter and her eyes open, "Cheater." She retorts and squeezes Blair's hand back.

Blair smiles, kisses her the tip of her nose again. "I fight dirty, you know that." She sits up then, "Come on… let's get changed, yeah?"

Serena whispers, "_Okay," _has learned not to nod.

Blair helps her sit up, lets her lean her head on her shoulder when the room does its slow lurch and then she stands up, helps Serena move to the edge of the bed.

The hospital gown comes off and Blair dresses her gently, efficiently, hands careful and light around healing bruises and affixed bandages. It's a light cotton dress, short sleeves, blue with tiny white polka dots, buttons all along the front – something like what she would have over a decade ago and it brings tears to her eyes.

"Oh honey," Blair says, stops buttoning. Her touches the side of Serena's hair gently, "Do you need a nurse?" She wonders.

"No." Serena presses her lips together tightly, tells herself to _not _cry. Crying isn't going to fix _anything._It's a worthless activity.

"Okay," Blair responds, finishes the buttons silently. She sits next to Serena then, reaches over and takes her hand without a word.

"Where's Mia?" Serena wonders, voice low; grasping for a distraction.

"Nate took her to the cafeteria for jello or pudding or a popsicle…" Blair shrugs, "Something."

"What if it's not organic, Blair?" A tear rolls down her cheek. She swipes at it angrily, mutters, "_Fuck." _

"It's been… hard." Blair offers, looks at her, "Let yourself."

Serena inhales sharply, braces herself for the pain and shakes her head. When it passes she speaks, "I'm fine. I just…" she blows out a breath, turns her head slowly to look at Blair, "Don't worry."

"_Don't." _Blair snaps, hand tightening around Serena's maybe a little too much, "Don't do that – not to_me." _

Serena feels shaky, too tense suddenly, the edges of her vision blurring, "What do you _want _me to do? There's—"

"I want you to cry," Blair interrupts, "I want you to cry and cry and _cry _until it's all out of you. Until you're dried up so you can stop drowning in it."

She can't swallow, she can't blink, she can only stare at Blair.

"So you can be yourself." Blair whispers, feels tears clogging up her own throat, "Different, but _you." _

Serena pulls her hand free and presses it over her face, shuts her eyes. "I can't. I can't. I'm sorry," she chokes out, hunches over, elbows on her knees. "I'm sorry. So sorry."

And she can't stop it then, it's a surge too strong, it goes over her head; immerses her in her grief and she's sobbing abruptly— no segue or ability to stop, just tears and sobs and, "I'm sorry, so sorry…" because she always, always had been and now more so.

Blair pulls her into her arms and Serena turns into her, clutches the fabric of Blair's shirt between a clenched fist.

"I'm sorry too," Blair says, "I'm sorry this happened to you, I—"

"Me," Serena gasps tearfully, "_Me._ I— I'm sorry. I… so sorry. It…" She squeezes her eyes shut, tries to breath and not gasp, to control herself and not sob. Fails at both.

And Blair blinks, because Serena can't think she's to blame-

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Blair says fiercely, "Not like that_. _This wasn't your fault. You had nothing to do with it, this _happened _to you. You don't have anything to be sorry about," she repeats, presses kisses to the top of Serena hair, "You didn't do anything to deserve this."

Serena cries harder then; her head hurts, her chest, her throat, _everything_. The room's spinning and she feels flushed, out of control, _cannot _stop crying – because Blair is _wrong. _

She is.

Because the one thing that no premier surgeon or renowned therapist can fix, the one long-term, permanent effect of this accident is that she will never be pregnant again.

And if that isn't some perverse form of justice, Serena doesn't know what is.

* * *

.tbc.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

"It's not a big deal."

"I know." Blair nods, smiles, if wanly than at least completely sincerely, "It's not. It's… just hair."

Serena stares at herself in the mirror unblinkingly. "It'll grow back."

"It will."

They were speaking quietly, Serena sitting in an armchair; Blair perched on the armrest, fiddling with ends of the blonde's hair. The hairdresser was preparing her equipment behind them, had set up the mirror already; she'd been summoned that morning, when Serena had woken up and told Blair today was the day.

She'd been home from the hospital for a few days, been quiet and sleepy and Blair wasn't sure what had set off the sudden need to get it done, to even out the lengths of her hair, but it was the first thing, besides leaving the hospital in the first place, that Serena had legitimately wanted – so she was getting it.

She runs her fingers through Serena's hair gently, careful to not pull it; and Serena reaches up and takes her hand, squeezes it.

Blair smiles again, tighter now, but still genuine; gives the hand a squeeze back.

It takes forty-nine minutes to even out the mess of lengths in Serena's hair. The final result is a layered, almost bob-like cut that did away with all the curl and made her look startlingly adult. It's elegant and very well done and when Serena lifts a hand to touch the ends of it, around her chin and ears, it brings tears to both their eyes.

Dorota dismisses the hairdresser and Blair crawls carefully into the armchair with Serena, hugs her close; rocks her a little bit. "It's only hair," she whispers.

Serena sniffles, eyes clenched shut. "It'll grow back."

"It will."

Everything would be okay. It would.

* * *

"I said _no _Serena," Blair snaps sends the blonde a glare.

Mia's head lifts from where she's coloring on the rug. She looks at the two women sitting on the couch with curios blue eyes. There's a smudge of green marker on her cheek, a purple one on her chin, reddish one over her left brow, and Blair's certain the rug is covered with them too— just another thing to thank _Auntie Eena _for, along with disappearing nap times and a penchant for nutella, Blair thinks wryly.

She sends her daughter a smile.

"I didn't actually _ask _you, B." Serena retorts, a stony smile on her face for Mia's benefit. "I _commented_ – that I'd like to find my own place. It's not question."

"And I said I don't think it's a good idea," Blair repeats herself firmly, her own smile brittle.

"Frog-o!" Mia chirps and tilts onto her side a little so they can see her page, points the marker in their direction.

And both smiles ease the tiniest bit. "Is that what you're coloring, baby?" Blair wonders, peers at the paper Amelia's bending over.

She nods enthusiastically, the blue ribbon used to tie her hair back slipping further down her head. She's in her pajamas already, a blue romper style thing with little white flowers all over it that Blair is fairly certain wasn't purchased by her.

"What color are frogs, Mimi-Mi?" Serena prods.

"_Green." _ Mia pronounces, giggles to herself and then turns back to her picture.

The smiles drop from their faces then, eyes going back to each other's faces. It's late, Dorota's gone home for the day, and they're in the living room, waiting on Nate for dinner. Blair's taking a break from reviewing case-notes and Serena's been sitting on the couch spending time with Mia for the past half hour.

"I can't just stay here forever," Serena mumbles, more mindful now of Mia's presence. "And I don't want a suite—" she says on a rush when Blair opens her mouth, "— at any hotel. I want a place." She says firmly, "My own."

Blair folds her legs underneath herself, mimicking Serena's pose. "It's only been a month—"

"Almost _two _months,_" _she interrupts quietly. Two months of sitting in on Nate and Blair's life. She loves them; and how much they love her is evident in every gesture and smile and word they direct to her – but there's a dull ache inside her at it all – Blair pouring lemonade at dinner and Nate putting dishes in the dishwasher and Mia underfoot giggling - it's starting to drive her mad.

There's a tangled, pulsing knot of agitation, disillusionment, grief in the pit of her stomach that never goes away; pulses hard sometimes, quiet others – and she can't tell how much of it is the accident and how much of it is _this. _

"I can get myself to therapy and take my medication just as well from my own place as I do here." She adds quietly.

"But you don't have to," Blair argues, "We love hav—"

"But I _want _to."

There's a touch of pleading in Serena's voice and she glares at Blair a bit afterwards; she shouldn't have to plead – it's _not a question. _

"Let's just give it some more time." Blair reaches over and takes Serena's hand. "Wait until the physio's over and then we'll see what—"

"I don't want to wait." Clear, simple.

Blair frowns, pulls her hand back. "You can't go five hours without getting a headache. Going up the stairs to your bedroom makes you tired."

"So I'll take a lot of naps."

"You can take a lot of naps _here,"_ Blair 's not that she doesn't want Serena to recover her independence, to start living her life again – it's just… _too soon. _She swallows past a suddenly dry mouth, heart pounding a little harder. It's completely ridiculous, irrational, but she just… she likes knowing where Serena is; she likes coming home and finding Serena in the house - asleep or tickling Mia or chatting with Dorota, just there – mostly okay and right _there. _

"Blair," Serena starts, voice low.

But she doesn't finish, the door opens then and Mia shoots up from the carpet like she's jerked on a string, shouting, "Daddy, Daddy, _Daddy!" _

Serena closes her mouth.

Nate walks in already laughing as Mia launches herself at his legs. "Mia, Mia, Mimi-Mia!" He teases her and bends down to scoop her up in one arm. "Hello!" He presses a kiss to her cheek, shuts the door with his free hand, "How's my girl?"

Mia giggles with her whole body, the sound filling the quiet living room as her dark blonde curls bounce around her face. "Daddy! Up!" She demands, hops in his hold, bare feet swinging in the air.

Nate grins at her, touches his forehead to hers, "You are up, Mini-Mim…"

"Up!" She repeats, latches on to his lapels and tugs.

He laughs again, looks over at Blair and Serena. "Hey, you two…" he smiles at them, drops his stuff into an armchair as he walks forward. "Mia beats you both out for most enthusiastic welcome," he teases, approaching the couch they're sitting on.

"Perfect timing," Blair responds evenly, gives him a tight smile.

And he pauses in his approach, shifts Mia into both his arms and swings her from side to side gently. "Oh?"

The little girl giggles loudly, hangs her head upside down, curls hanging loose as the blue ribbon finally slips off completely and flutters to the ground.

"Tell Serena it is much too soon for her to be living on her own." Blair says seriously.

Serena lifts mutinous blue eyes to Nate, locks gazes with him, "Tell Blair she's not the one who gets to decide that."

And Nate stares at her, and then shifts his gaze to Blair, then back to Serena, back to Blair, before lifting Mia up to his eyelevel.

He grins at her, "Oh _up," _he says brightly, makes his voice a pitch higher to make her laugh. "Up like this…?" He teases and lifts the little girl up high above his head, wiggles her in the air as he walks towards the staircase. "Huh? Up like this?"

Mia laughs, kicks her feet up, "Yes-yes! Up! Yessss! Flyyyy! Up!"

"How about _up_ the _stairs_?" He asks her even as he strides towards them and starts up, "Let's say hi to Raggedy Rex…"

Mia's giggles trail behind them as the two disappear upstairs.

"So, presumably," Blair says wryly, eyes on the staircase, "Greeting Mia's doll takes precedence over conversing with us."

Serena turns her gaze to Blair slowly, waits for the other woman to look at her. "We aren't _conversing _about this," she says very gently, shifts on the sofa, closer to Blair. "I can't stay here forever, B."

Blair takes a quick breath, purses her lips a little. "Not yet."

And Serena loops one of her arms through Blair's, sits on her feet and leans into her. She peers into her face and offers her a half-smile, "I'm okay."

Blair lifts a hand and tucks a loose strand of blonde hair behind Serena's ear. She's not okay. She's too thin and pale and an entire month and two weeks has done nothing to make her less quiet. There'd been ten days of exams and procedures and results and advice when they'd made the transfer to a New York City hospital. Followed by weeks of slowly fading bruises, healing gashes, and minor surgeries that had yet to completely vanish; those first three weeks in the house, after it was all over, between meals and meds and drives to physical therapy, Serena had slept more than anything.

But Blair knew, she _was_ getting stronger, but with that came a sudden penchant for sitting alone in empty rooms. It was becoming the norm to walk into the living room or a den and find Serena alone, sitting in an armchair with a thoughtful, almost pensive, expression on her face. And it sent chills down Blair's spine— that expression had no _place _on Serena's face. Serena didn't do introspection; she didn't slow down enough for that, until now apparently. And it scared her a little, made her think they shouldn't have let the suggestion of therapy be dismissed out of hand.

"Not yet," she responds softly, rests her hand against Serena's hair, "Stay here."

"Blair—"

"For me."

And Serena cringes. "Blair." She says again, makes a face at her and then winces when it pulls at butterfly bandages along her hairline.

"As a personal favor," Blair adds, "I have a case going to trial, high profile – and I won't be able to concentrate properly if you're leaving me. I'll be too worried, all the time."

"I'm not leaving you-" Serena huffs a little. "There are so many forms of blackmail in that sentence, I lost track."

Blair smiles, pulls her gently closer, slipping an arm carefully around her. "I blackmail because I love."

Serena sighs, tucks her head under Blair's chin and shuts her eyes. "You have to let me go sometime."

Blair drops a kiss on the top of Serena's head. "Not yet."

Serena smiles faintly, whispers, "Love you too, B."

* * *

When Nate wanders back downstairs, suit replaced with t-shirt and jogging pants, Mia in his arms, flushed from play and clutching Raggedy Rex under her chin, Serena and Blair are seated at the table, already eating the meal Dorota had left ready for them.

"Oh okay," he says, stops in the doorway, "So you wait for me and then you start eating without me?" He glances at Mia, "Do you get them?"

Mia regards him seriously. "No 'ccoli, no." She shakes her head.

Serena smiles a little, spears a piece of broccoli and eats it.

"You did abandon us to go see to a doll," Blair offers balefully, "And have yet to kiss me hello."

"Aah," he walks into the room, towards her, "You make an excellent point."

"As usual." Blair dimples, tilts her face to him and he leans down, presses a light kiss to her lips.

"No!" Mia shrieks suddenly, arms going around Nate's neck tightly, squishing the rag doll between them, "Ma no! Daddy mine! _Mine!" _

Nate laughs, straightens; and Blair rolls her eyes. "This phase better pass quickly."

He grins, rubs Mia's back. "She just loves me best, it's okay," he teases her, winks at Serena as he moves around to set Mia in her seat. She's already had her dinner, is precisely one hour away from her bedtime – which is exactly why she's got energy to spare, he's sure.

"It's a temporary thing," Blair defends, as he fastens Mia into the booster seat, "All the books say so."

"Oh, sure," he nods, smirks playfully, sets the doll on table in front of her and smoothes Mia's wispy curls before moving to his own seat.

Blair chews a piece of chicken, tries not to smile at him. "It's true," she insists, "Tell him Serena…"

Serena starts at the mention of her name, looks up from her plate. "Hmh?" She wonders, looks between them.

There's a moment of silence in the dining room, when it's just the sound of rustling fabric as Mia tries to pull the checkered shirt off of her doll, and they all know, Serena would never have had to be prodded to join this conversation, _before. _Blair exchanges a look with Nate before answering softly, "Mia will outgrow Nate as her favorite."

"Oh." She smiles faintly, "Of course." The silence descends again and Serena forces herself to straighten a little, her chin to lift. She shifts her gaze to Mia, lingers for a beat before she calls, "Mimster!" Brightly with a widening smile on her face

Mia gives her attention to her aunt and Serena smiles even wider at her, demands, "Kiss."

And Mia smiles, dimples her on either cheek as she bounces in her seat, "Kiss!"She echoes, and then blows Serena a dramatic air-kiss – little hand waving out and head tossed back, lips pursed on in puckered _o. _

Serena gives Blair and Nate a smug look, "I'm clearly the favorite."

Blair rolls her eyes a little and Nate laughs – and her job is done, she thinks wryly, balance restored.

It's how dinner passes. Nate shares his day, Blair shares hers, and she makes herself tease them and smile and tries to eat everything on her plate.

She doesn't quite manage it and when Mia drops the doll on the floor, starts to cry, she takes the opportunity, while Nate is shushing her, to offer her excuses and slip away to bed.

Nate looks up from the crying toddler, surprised, and Blair watches her walk away in startled silence.

"Okay. So what's going on?" Nate asks, takes Mia out of the booster seat into his lap.

Blair sends him a scathing look. "You need to back me up when I say something is what is going on." She stands up, starts collecting plates.

"We're not ganging up on her."

"We're not letting her move out when she's still sleeping 19 hours a day."

He sighs, cuddles a sniffling and drowsy Mia to his chest, "We can't make her—"

Blair pauses, lifts an eyebrow at him.

Nate redirects, "We _shouldn't _make her stay here if she doesn't want to."

"And what do you propose, Nate?"

"I don't know yet, but we'll think of something." He stands up then, walks towards her, cradling Mia. "She's not happy here."

"She's not happy." Blair says flatly, leaves dishes stacked on the table.

Nate licks his lips. "Making her do something she's clearly said she doesn't want to do isn't going to change that."

Blair frowns, "Don't advise me, I hate that."

"I'm not advising," he says quickly, smiles a little, "I'm just _saying." _

Her lips quirk, "Oh just saying, huh?"

He nods, glances down at Mia, "I think she's drifted…"

"Oh yeah?" Blair says, a little amused. "Thank you for sharing."

"I have an agenda…" he teases, sidling closer to her.

"Hm? And what would it be?"

He shifts Mia into one arm, lets her legs hang between them, as he slides his other arm around Blair's waist and pulls her closer, smiles as he says, "Just this…" and kisses her.

She brings one hand to his chest and touches the back of Mia's head with the other. "I approve of your agenda," she murmurs, smiling against his lips.

"Hmm, means a lot to me," he teases, nudges her forehead with his. "Your approval."

"Oh?"

He kisses her again, slow, easy. "Yeah…"

Blair blinks up at him, their noses touching lightly. She sighs softly, "I'm just..." _scared._

Nate nods a little, shifts, and hugs Blair into his side. "I know," he says softly, kisses the top of her head. They're still for a moment; she turns her face into shoulder and lowers his lips to the top of her head. There's a lot to consider; and the same history that serves as their impetus is what also holds them back.

"I'll take Mia," Blair says after a beat, moves a little and reaches for their little girl.

"You always take Mia," Nate complains with a smile, "And I get dishes."

"I make it up to you don't?" She teases.

And he laughs, steals another kiss, "You do."

Blair smiles, adjusts Mia on her shoulder, nuzzling the baby's face into her neck. "Remember to rinse before you put them in the dishwater…" she smirks, "Or I'll have Dorota call you…"

Nate watches her walk away with a rueful smile.

* * *

They both jump when Nate switches the light on in the kitchen as he walks in. "Serena!" He says, eyes wide.

She looks up, legs tucked up against her on the chair, chin resting on her knees. "Nate." She smiles a little, blinks as her eyes adjust to the influx of light.

"What are you doing?" He wonders, walks into the room.

"Getting a glass of water."

"In the dark?"

"I didn't want to disturb anyone… with the light," she says wryly. Nate clearly has no such qualms.

"You're sitting in a chair, no water."

"I got distracted," she murmurs, shifts her gaze away from him.

He walks to the refrigerator, "With what?"

"Can't remember."

Nate's quiet for a moment, pulls out the milk. "Want hot cocoa?" He doesn't push.

"Can't," looks up at him again, "Meds."

"Oh… I'll make it with water," he decides, moves back to the refrigerator.

"You're not going to turn the stove on are you?" Serena wonders warily.

He lifts his head, gives her a smirk, "I can handle a stove, van der Woodsen."

Her lips quirk in a smile, "Sure. Okay."

Nate grins. "I sense skepticism."

She lays her cheek gently on her knees, face tilted towards him as she watches him get mugs from the cupboard. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I should be asking you that," he retorts, finds his box of Swiss Miss. Blair looks down on hot cocoa made from a powder, so it's basically just for him.

"I asked first," Serena responds, watching his movements.

He laughs a little, "You did…" he dumps a packet of cocoa into a mug of water, "Mia woke up. It's my week to get her…" He shrugs, sends her a smile, "And yeah, then I couldn't go back to sleep." He wiggles his eyebrows at her, "And _you?_ What's your—"

"You're a good dad, Nate."

He starts a bit at the abrupt segue, and she does too – at the way the words just spill out of her, wistful and sad and true. She draws in a breath and adds, "You've always been- I just… wasn't around as much- before… so I never… said, but yeah… you are."

"Thank you," he smiles at her, wide and a little beaming; she averts her gaze.

"You're an awesome aunt," he offers when the kitchen's been silent for a beat too long. He moves to open the microwave, "She adores you."

Serena smiles a little. "I adore her."

They sit in silence then, listen to the humming of the microwave; it's a strange mix of awkward and comfortable, the same feeling that fills the air every time she's been alone with Nate since the accident. She thinks maybe it's been there all along, since the moment she came back from eleven months in Belize to find him affianced to Blair, smiling at the brunette and teasing her about the font on wedding invitations, and Serena just never still long enough to notice it before.

She closes her eyes, listens to beep of the microwave, the sound of Nate taking the mug out, putting the other one in; the spoon clinking against the sides as he stirs, and finally the thud of it on the table as he sets it beside her.

She blinks her eyes open, doesn't move. Nate sits on the chair next to her; she can feel his gaze on her face. "You know," he starts carefully, "Blair… she doesn't mean to be…" he fumbles for the word, settles on, "_Controlling._"

And Serena lifts her head, feels a genuine smile tug at her lips. "Oh?"

He rolls his eyes a little, smiles. "Not about _this,_" he corrects himself. "She really is… concerned. She doesn't think you're… okay… enough to move out on your own yet."

She blinks at him, smile fading a little. "What do _you_ think?"

The microwave beeps and he says, "I don't think so either," softly before getting up.

Serena sighs, reaches her hand out and touches the mug with her fingertips. "I can't stay here forever," she says quietly, eyes on the mug, "I'm not… a part of this." She thinks Nate will understand that; maybe Blair would too, if she wanted to listen.

Nate drops back into the chair, "You're a part of us." He says it so simply, takes a sip of his hot chocolate after, like it's obvious and normal and not breaking her heart.

"I can't stay here," she says more firmly, sits up straighter and reaches for the chocolate, "I have to leave eventually."

"Hmh…" he takes another sip of cocoa, "I like having you here." He says sweetly.

And she stares into her cup, holds it with both hands; he _would_ like it wouldn't he, she thinks a little bitterly, surprises herself with the thought. But he has them both, while she's here, and choosing was never his strong suit was it? She squeezes the mug tightly, bites the inside of her bottom lip, doesn't _want_ to think like that – not about anything and not about _Nate_.

"I should go to bed," she says abruptly, puts the mug back on the table. And anyway, he _had_ made a choice, hadn't he? She lowers her feet to the floor.

"Oh, right…" he nods, "Yeah, you should get some rest." He gives her a lop-sided half smile and her heart stutters a beat.

It's late and she's tired and she shouldn't be looking at Nate's smile or his messy hair or his blue eyes or-

"Nate-" There's a well of questions inside her, they go back a decade, maybe more – _what if, did you, who do, why didn't, do you_ – and they've been brimming up to her mouth more and more lately; she flounders for words that don't involve them. "Thank you…" she breathes, pushes her chair in and goes to fiddle with the ends of her hair— that aren't there anymore, she drops her hand. "For the hot cocoa."

He blinks at her, looks a little bewildered; like he can sense there was more to that. But then he stands up too and smiles at her. He touches her arm gently, wants her to know everything is going to be okay, "Sweet dreams, okay."

She smiles back as best she can, nods at him. "Thanks… you too."

And then she flees the kitchen.

* * *

When Serena walks into his office, Chuck's eyes widen a fraction. It's how she knows she's surprised him.

"Serena…" he drawls, stands from the chair even.

And she'd worked so hard on her make-up, had thought she really did look fine. "Chuck," she greets, looks around his office. She's been here before of course, the décor never changes much, always expensive, impressive, stolid – sometimes it felt like the boy full of color and smirks she'd grown up had never existed.

He comes around the desk towards her, "I wasn't expecting you today. How are you? Should you be-" he stops himself, lifts his eyebrows at her

"I'm fine," she answers.

His arms come around her lightly, a little distantly, their cheeks skimming one another lightly. It must look a good deal more superficial than it really is, she thinks.

He turns her towards a chair, a hand low on her back, "I'm glad to hear it." He pauses delicately, "Does anyone know you're here?"

"I'm not their prisoner," she counters, tilts the corners of her lips upwards, "I can leave the house."

"Right," he nods, "Of course. I just need a moment to reschedule my three—"

"I am your three o'clock." She tells him, smile widening a little, "But thank you." They didn't see each other much; but since the accident, she'd seen him a good deal more than she had in the entirety of last year.

He hesitates as he watches her settle in the seat, "Are you now?"

"Hm." She crosses her legs at the ankles, doesn't nod, just lifts her gaze to him.

"You don't need to make an appointment to see me," he pauses as he moves back around to his desk, "Sis." It's a soft tease, not quite as comfortable as used to be.

"I wanted your undivided attention," she teases back, but fixes serious eyes on his face as she folds her hands in her lap.

And Chuck regards her for a moment, the steady eyes and even voice and demure pose, "Sounds intriguing." He tilts his head a little, "Is this about the place you would like to find?"

"No." It's been less than two weeks since she brought the idea up and she's certain it's been commented about more than once. "I didn't think you and-" she pauses unsure which Archibald to mention, "Nate…" she decides, "Talked much…?" They don't run in the same circles anymore, everybody knows that – whether it's on purpose or not, is anyone's guess.

"On occasion," he answers, gives her an easy shrug.

"Are you checking up on me?"

"Of course," he smiles a little, "Is that a bad thing?"

"You could talk _to_ me_." _

"You don't have an accurate perception of yourself at the moment."

Serena frowns at him, "That's not true." She lifts her chin a little, "And I can go about it myself anyhow." And she will, when she has the energy for that.

He taps fingertips on the desk, "Well, I've already had Carolina put some possibilities together for you."

Serena swallows back her sigh. "I don't need your help finding a place to live." She says quietly, firmly, and she holds his gaze.

"But you need my help." Chuck perceptively concludes.

She looks around the office again, knows it gives away the nervousness she's feeling, but can't help herself; this might have been easier if she'd gone to his suite, if she written it in a letter, if she didn't do it all…

"Yes," she says, turns her gaze back to him. "I need your help." There's afternoon sunlight streaming in from the windows and she shifts her gaze into it, squints at the bright light, "But not with… finding an apartment."

"So you've said," Chuck prods, shifts forward in his seat a little, worried frown marring his face.

She doesn't look at him, sees spots in the glare from the sun, "Do you remember… in high school. I… went away, to boarding school."

When she doesn't continue, he prods. "Yes, I remember."

She turns her gaze to him abruptly as she says, "And you remember what happened, before I left," she blinks to adjust her eyes to the lighting, "With Nate." It's all she says, it should be enough. He'd witnessed it after all: drunk and fifteen and unplanned and a year away. It should be enough of the pieces for him to see the picture.

He stares, dark eyes locked with hers and she sees it – the moment when the possibility flickers through his thoughts.

"Serena…" he says gravely, voice tinged with alarm, as he shakes his head the tiniest bit.

"I'm sure you've looked into my time away," she continues, voice dropping a pitch, "What did you find?"

He's stone still for another beat and then he straightens in the seat, runs a hand through perfectly styled hair; musses it up. He doesn't deny her assertion of having looking into her background, answers her question instead. "Entry date, perfect grades, exit date," he lists.

She nods once, briefly. "I was only there for six weeks."

"No..." He says quietly, eyes widening in his face. "It's not possible. There would be records, there would be—" He shakes his head again, "I would have run acros—"

"My grandmother helped."

And Chuck's mouth snaps shut, Cece; of course. He stares at her again, a wary expression dawning over his face.

"I could do this myself," she says, clenches her hands in her lap, "But you have a wider ring of associates who… who know how to keep things… private."

"What you're thinking of asking me—"

"I'm not thinking of," she interrupts him again, "I'm asking."

"Serena…" He says her name again, looks like he's about to stand, restless.

"For your help," she presses on, forces herself to look at him, "I want to find my child."

Chuck presses his lips together, takes the end of his tie nervously between two fingers. "Your… _child._" He echoes her.

"Yes."

"Serena." He pushes up from the chair, paces a few steps behind the desk.

"I know what it sounds like, okay." She fidgets, lifts a hand to fiddle with her hair and it happens again, she remembers an instant too late it's not long enough anymore.

"Oh really?" Chuck shakes his head, "Because I presume this child was placed up for adoption... eleven years ago, Serena. Nathaniel is positioned to run for congress. And," he pauses, "Blair will… not be pleased."

"I'm not saying I want to put an ad out on page six, Chuck. I just… want to know." She slides to the edge of her seat, puts both palms flat on his desk, and looks up at him. "So just… help me with this... please."

Chuck stares at her for a beat and then tugs at the knot of his tie, moves around the desk, "I need a drink."

* * *

.tbc.


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

Serena breathes out slowly, murmurs, "Okay," into the heavy silence of the office.

And Chuck pauses on his way to the sidebar, just the tiniest bit incredulous. "Okay?" He echoes, turns back to look at her.

She lifts her gaze to his face, steady blue eyes. "Okay," she repeats, "Get a drink if you want."

He watches her for a moment and then a humorless smirk flickers over his face. He turns back towards the bar. "Get a drink…" he muses, carefully takes a glass and uncaps the decanter, "If I want…"

"Did I say something amusing?" She wonders flatly, refuses to question the wisdom of coming here; of telling him and asking him for this – it's done.

"I'm sure it's difficult," he murmurs, "Not to have a drink yourself."

"It's been good for me," she doesn't shift on her chair to look at him. "You might want to try it some time."

"Zarontin?"

"Sobriety."

"I'd rather the meds. Chaser, you know." He drinks three fingers of scotch in one swallow and turns back towards her, asks seriously. "You do understand what you're asking?"

They're not looking at each other. She's facing forward, to his empty desk, and he's behind her, eyes resting on the back of her head. Serena answers without moving. "Yes."

Chuck licks his lips, refills his glass, then pours water into another. He walks over to her, sets the water glass on the desk in front of her and sits in the chair beside her rather than behind his desk.

"You've given this thought?" He swirls the scotch in his glass lightly, won't shift his gaze from her face. He needs to see her understand this; the Pandora's box she was trying to pry open.

Serena gives him a level look, "I didn't wake up this morning and decide it while I was brushing my teeth."

He smirks faintly, "Good to know."

And her eyes narrow, "Don't do that, don't dismiss what I'm saying. Of _course_ I know what it is I'm asking."

He takes a drink, still watching her. "Nathaniel doesn't know."

"_Nobody_ knows," she snaps, heart thumping— annoyed, terrified.

"I know," he comments.

She exhales sharply. "Are you going to _tell_ him." She doesn't breathe, he wouldn't, she's sure— almost completely _certain_ he wouldn't and she couldn't have miscalculated this badly, she-

"I ought to." He says quietly.

"Chuck-"

"It would be the right thing to do."

"No, it-"

"I've been never much for the right thing, though. Have I?"

She stops, tries to breathe again, hands twisting tightly in her lap.

"But you… you have." He continues, eyes dropping briefly to her hands before lifting again to her eyes.

There's something tight in her chest and she tenses all over in response to it. "I… try." She says faintly.

He watches her, dark eyes heavy on her face – waiting for something and she cracks a little, "What do you want me to say, Chuck?" She murmurs, "It's not— this, I'm not here on… a whim. I've… been thinking about this since—" she hesitates, "Since I got back to the city. I need to do this, I want to… know." She takes a deep breath and glares at him a little, "Will you do it or not?"

"Know what?" He prods.

She presses her lips together, averts her eyes. "It's a yes or no question, Chuck. I thought… I came to you because I thought—"

"I know what you thought," he interrupts tersely. "I get things done."

"No." She looks at him, startled at the change in tone. "I mean, yes…" she brings a hand to her face tiredly, presses it into her cheek. "You get things done, I know, yeah… but I thought… I came because you'd understand. I just… need you to." Her hand drops to her lap, eyes on his face, "No one else will."

She's always been so certain of that; it's her secret, Cece's secret, to take to their graves.

And she almost had.

Chuck studies her face and she holds still for the inspection. "If I find this child…" He says slowly; there is no if, of course. "What are you going to do?"

"Nothing," she answers promptly, she's given this hours and hours of thought. "I'm not going to do anything. I don't want to do anything – I just…" tears fill her eyes unprompted and she looks away, blinks quickly, "I just want to know... what his smile looks like, if he... if he likes sports…"

Chuck stares at her, hard and silent, and she's not sure he believes her - maybe because there's a tiny piece of herself that doesn't believe her either.

"He." Chuck echoes quietly.

And Serena bites the inside of her bottom lip, can't quite hold his gaze as she whispers, "Yes, a boy. Six pounds, three ounces, eighteen inches long." She recites the stats; some night's they're all she can hear - that and _do you want to hold him?_

Chuck nods, takes a sip of scotch, lets the silence between them stretch.

"And your mother? Eric?" He asks finally.

She starts to lift a hand in the air to wave them off, brings back down to her lap sharply when it shakes, "What about them?" She murmurs; she'd said no.

His eyes drift to her hands, then back to her face. He doesn't comment. "Are they going to know?"

"No." Again she answers promptly. "No one is going to know, no one but you." There had been a moment, when the knowledge of Scott had come into their lives, when he had shown up and hugged them and smiled, that she'd considered telling her mother.

But Scott had gone away and their mother had let him; and Serena had kept her secret.

"Cece knows."

"And she would never allow this," Serena responds. "As far as my Grandmother is concerned…" she swallows hard, "That never happened."

She knows; because Serena had spent months and months with Cece, she'd cried and hurt and wished so hard it _must_ have been written all over face— and Cece had never once even hinted at Lily's own instance of _enceinte. _

Chuck takes another sip of scotch, eyes over the rim of the glass silently for a moment before saying, "And up until three months ago you agreed with her."

Serena flinches; old guilt and new remorse roiling together in her stomach. "_Don't,_" she snaps him, almost pushing up from the chair, "You have no idea what I—"

"I'm not trying to upset you," he cuts in smoothly, swirls the scotch in his glass lightly again. "I'm just pointing out that it's been over a decade and you've recently undergone a traumatic event— perhaps now is not the best time for you to be making this decision."

He finishes the contents of his glass in one swallow.

Her gaze drops to it. "What number is that today?"

His gaze hardens, "Your point?"

"Upwards of three?"

"Serena—"

"You're an alcoholic."

His lips thin, "So you say."

"Just because you can function doesn't mean you aren't."

"So you _say._" He repeats tightly.

"Don't talk to me about decisions," she spits back at him, "You have no ground to stand on. Will you do it or not?"

There's another beat of silence, their gazes hard and locked on each other, and it's a bluff, an empty question. There was never a question— they've always been on equal footing when it came to decision-making.

He's always been able to match her steps.

* * *

Serena gets a call from her mother as she's leaving Bass Inc., Lily unknowingly gliding by a mess of her daughter's making; some things never change.

They make plans for lunch the next day and Serena doesn't even come close to taking it as a sign to confess.

* * *

"Have a nice time out today?"

Serena sighs, turns her head from the TV to Nate. "Am I under surveillance or something?"

"Or something," he answers with a shrug. They're watching a rerun of The Nanny, Mia's cuddled in his lap, and Dorota's still make dinner in the kitchen. It's Blair's late night, so he's home early and Serena is planning her exit between the end of this episode and the start of the next one.

"I didn't think you and Chuck talked so much."

"More lately," he shrugs.

"I'm so glad spying on me is giving you two conversation fodder."

He smiles at her, wide, like she's made a joke. "You're cranky." Mia giggles, her eyes on the TV.

"I don't like being monitored." Serena huffs.

"That's not it." He says softly, smile fading. "He gave… you properties to look at?" He wonders after a moment.

Serena nods, looks back to the screen. "Yes." She'd taken the paperwork Carolina had put together, since she'd already been there.

"Anything you like?"

"Couple places."

"We could go take a look at them. It could be a—"

"It's okay, Nate." She looks over at him again, "I kind of want to… do it on my own."

He closes his mouth and nods, tries not to look hurt and fails at it. She sighs a little, "Don't be…" she trails off, "I know you just want to…"

"Then just let me," he says quietly when she trails off again. "You don't have to do things by yourself—"

"I never do things by myself," she blurts out, "I always have Blair or you or Chuck even, looking over my shoulder."

"Serena…" a frown line appears between his brows, "That's not—"

But she interrupts him, blows out a breath; "Look…" she reaches out and takes one of Mia's little feet between her hands. The little girl wiggles her toes against her palm and Serena continues, "Just from print-outs, I've narrowed it down to two. I'll go look at them and then if I need a second opinion you'll be the first I come to." She offers him a half-smile. "Blair will want to approve it anyway," she adds, because _you_ includes Blair now.

He returns her half-smile, exactly the same tilt as her, just the barest hint of sadness. "Yeah, sure…" he murmurs, "But you know," he adds firmly, "We don't want you to leave. You don't have to. You're our family."

It's a variation of on what he's been saying all along, different words maybe but the same quiet confidence and sincere expression.

She forces herself to stay relaxed, to not look away from his gaze. "I know."

"Aunt Reena, look! Look!" Mia demands, wiggles her toes again. "Pink!"

And Serena feels a warm gush of relief, of adoration for the almost three-year-old. "Hot pink," She distinguishes, tickles the bottom of the toddler's foot.

"Daddy!" Mia laughs, wriggling on Nate's lap, gasping between breathless giggles as Serena tickles her feet and then her tummy, "Daddy! Daddy! Aun' Reena! Daddy!"

Nate grins, holds his arms up so Serena has full access to the little girl and Mia presses her laughing face into his chest.

"Yes? Yes, Mimsi-Mia?" Serena teases, scooting closer, "What's that? I can't hear you? Huh?"

Mia laughs, screeches, "_Aun' Eeena!_" as she tips back on her head, arching up and then dropping back down and wriggling.

Serena's smile feels as wide as it ever gets these days and her eyes drift up to Nate; he's still grinning too, watching her with delight in his eyes, and it almost feels like before, like it's _them_, the way they've always been.

And then Mia's feet kick out and Serena starts, jumps back, hands lifting defensively, as Nate reaches a hand out and wraps it around Mia's ankles, stilling her. "Hey, hey," he says sternly, no laughter in his voice, "No kicking."

Mia slows down, giggles fading and Serena backs up, a little breathless.

"You okay?" Nate wonders, his hand on her shoulder then, smoothing gently. "She didn't get you did she?"

"Aunt Reena!" Mia demands, blinks big blue eyes at her and swipes golden brown curls away from her face with the back of her hand. She lifts her foot and wiggles her toes again, grins, "Aunt Reena!"

And Serena needs to get away all of a sudden, she needs more air; she can't breathe with Nate touching her and his child's blue eyes on her face.

"Yeah, no. I'm fine," she says on a rush and pushes up fast from the sofa. The room does a lazy spin, she's not supposed to get up that fast and Nate shifts forward on the couch, adjusts his hold on Mia like he's about to get up.

"Just… tired," she pushes on, takes a step back, away from him. "You know…?" She looks anywhere, but at them; keeps her gaze downcast, "Should get some rest… before dinner… so, I… I'm going to head to my room… okay…"

And then she leaves and as always, he lets her.

* * *

"Here." Blair stands by their bed that night in her silk teddy, hair loose around her shoulders, looking especially dark against her face in the glow of lamplight. She drops a hairbrush into Nate's lap. Then she climbs onto the bed in front of him, her back to him, "Brush my hair and tell me what happened today."

Nate smiles a little, picks it up with one hand and wraps an arm around her waist, pulls her backwards into him.

"I did," he says, kisses the back of her neck, "One of my funders threatened to pull out because he doesn't like the color of the paint we proposed for the facility."

She elbows him lightly, shrugs his arm loose, "With Serena, Nate."

"Hm…? With the properties Chuck gave her you mean?"

"No, with the, she didn't come for dinner and faked being asleep when I went to talk to her, thing."

"Maybe she really was—"

"I can tell the difference."

Nate leaves a trail of kisses down the back of her neck and Blair leans back a little rolls her eyes, "It was only a matter of time before she went to Chuck for help with this _apartment_ she's looking for."

Blair says the word apartment like most people say the word fungus and Nate wraps his arm around her again, smiles. "You're not upset she didn't come to you?"

"Of course I'm upset she didn't come to me," Blair huffs. "But it doesn't matter, not if Chuck's on board with that building plan…?"

It's a vague question and Nate nods, "He is," he assures her quietly; not intentionally skirting the topic of Chuck, just not picking it up either. "But Serena won't like it."

"She'll get over it."

He smiles a little then leans back and touches the brush to her hair, starts sliding carefully through the dark strands, "I don't—I'm not really sure what happened." He says quietly after a beat, "With her, in the living room… earlier."

"Hm?" Blair prods, slipping the covers over them both.

"It's like I said…" he mutters, curving the brush around one of her ear, "We were watching tv, tickling Mia, nothing weird. She just… rushed off."

"Nate…" Blair says quietly after a beat silence, snuggles into him a little.

The house is quiet, Mia's down for the count and Serena hardly makes any noise these days.

"Yeah?" He says, watching the way the brush moves through her glossy hair.

"Did you do something to make her… upset?"

He pauses where he's started lowering his mouth to her bare shoulder for a kiss, "No," he answers and then adds, "Don't this so…" His lips moving her skin.

"You're sure?" She wonders, turns her face to him a little, cheek bumping into his nose, "You didn't have… a moment or something?"

Nate lifts his head, props his chin on her shoulder, "A moment of what?" His head tilts into hers.

She waves a hand lightly, "A moment, Nate…" she says, rolls her eyes a little, "Why aren't you brushing?"

He smiles, presses a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth, and then straightens up again; starts' sliding the brush smoothly through her loose curls again. "I don't know what you—"

She nudges his calf with her toes, "Like you and Serena tend to do," she interrupts him, "That you think goes unnoticed and never does… or has."

Nate's movements slow down, but he doesn't stop. He thinks about watching Serena, about her smile, and how he'd felt when he'd seen it. "Maybe," he admits softly, "She was smiling, you know? Really big… it was nice."

"Did you do something?" Blair asks just as softly.

"I didn't…" he sighs, "I mean… I stopped Mia from kicking her in the face, but… I don't know Blair, she just – startled. I tried to calm her down, but she just got jittery and left."

Blair reads between the lines, sees the scene in her mind's eye – the tv on, the two of them smiling on the couch, Mia giggling between them – and the moment when Serena _saw_ all that herself. It makes her ache for her friend. "She's going to leave…" she whispers, feels the certainty of that heavy in her stomach.

Nate takes her hair in one hand and brushes the ends of it, "Yeah, eventually. You know that she's not goi—"

"Soon," Blair interrupts with a sigh. "I give her another month here, at the most."

"Because she didn't come down to dinner tonight?"

"Because she's," _in love with you_, "Restless."

"Maybe, but—"

"If she could she'd leave the country. You know she would. You know the signs."

Nate licks his lips, doesn't argue; he does know.

He stretches towards a nightstand, sets the hairbrush on it and then turns the lamp off, wraps both arms around Blair and pulls her close, "No more of this…" he mumbles, shifting them both down onto the pillows. "I have a thing to tell you…" He brushes her hair to one side, slips off a strap of her teddy.

Blair smiles in the dark, recognizes the shift in his tone. "Oh yeah?" She turns around in his hold, curls a leg around his hip, "What thing?"

"You might have to be naked, to really get the message…" he grins at her.

She laughs softly, "Subtle, Nate."

"How's this for subtle," he says teasingly and then he kisses her.

* * *

Serena goes to the look at the apartments she's selected the very next day. She sleeps late to avoid both Blair and Nate, watches cartoons with Mia and gives Dorota a hug on her way out.

The first place is perfect. It's a one bedroom condo in a well maintained building in Williamsburg; has a little balcony with a pretty view and the bedroom is big enough for a queen sized bed, there are worn carpets and the walls are painted a very pale peach, the kitchen has a breakfast counter and it is exactly the sort of place Blair would disapprove of.

The second place is... different. It's a studio loft in an older building on the Lower East Side. There's a shaky fire-escape with peeling paint and the kitchen isn't so much a kitchen as it is a refrigerator and a stove; from the doorway you can see every single square inch of space if the bathroom door is open and it is exactly the sort of place Blair would never remotely consider.

Serena signs a 6-month lease for the second place without consulting anyone else's opinion.

* * *

.tbc.


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Gossip Girl" or any of its character/plots.

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the delay! Thank you for reading!

* * *

Serena doesn't exactly avoid telling Blair about the lease she signs. She just doesn't do it right away— or for ten days.

Just until she's sure everything goes through with her credit check… and picked out paint colors for the walls and rugs for the floors and a couple sofas and a bedroom set.

When she does announce it, early morning as Blair and Nate are moving around the kitchen getting coffee and preparing to leave, Blair's easy reaction of, "Oh did you?" sets off little alarm bells in her head.

"Yeah…" she answers carefully, shoots Nate a quick searching look, but he seems to be exceptionally interested in the nutritional facts of a box of Chex cereal all of a sudden.

She eyes them both suspiciously, "Okay, what?"

"Nothing." Blair watches her, "Are you happy?"

Nate opens the box and sticks his hand in it, prompting Blair to huff and yank it away. "Bowl," she mutters, eyes still on Serena, waiting for a response from the blonde.

The two of them are standing side-by-side across from Serena; business suits on the both of them and when she does nothing but stare at them, they exchange a quick, communicative glance she can't decipher. She leans back into the counter, hands curling around the edge of it.

"Seriously…" she murmurs, "What?"

"What, what?" Nate wonders and he flashes her grin she knows is meant to distract, "Can we go see it soon?" He asks.

And she stares at him, then shifts her gaze to encompass both him and Blair, "Guys, what is going on?" She asks very steadily.

Nate shrugs, "With what?" He opens a cupboard finally and retrieves a bowl.

"You just told us you're moving in a week, we'd like to see the place," Blair says succinctly, pours the cereal into the bowl Nate holds out.

And Serena watches in silence; she's not sure what she expected their reaction to be, but this… is not it. "You just want to see it?" She asks tentatively, feels a sort of trap lying in wait for her. Blair had been so against the idea, Nate had backed her up – this easy acquiescence wasn't right.

Blair nods, turns away from Nate and picks up her coffee cup. "Of course…" she murmurs, eyes Serena as she smiles.

"You won't like it." Serena warns, lifts an eyebrow. "There's peeling paint and the faucets are water stained.

"I'll get you a decorator."

"I don't want one."

"Suit yourself, sweetie," Blair's smile widens as she approaches Serena, "Will you be there this evening?" She asks, loops her arm through Serena, "I can stop by right from work…"

Serena shifts, keeps their arms intertwined as she faces Blair, "Is there something that I need to know about this place?" She asks, sighing a little.

Blair meets her gaze over the rim of her coffee cup as she takes another sip, "Are you happy with it?"

Serena blinks at the repeated question; just _knows_ suddenly that it's a deliberate attempt by Blair to whitewash something she doesn't yet know and it alarms her.

Still, she thinks of the golden yellow and cerulean blue paints she bought, the furniture to be delivered, the fire escape she plans to put plants on— the plants to plans to buy. "I… am." She concludes.

Blair smile at her, genuine and sweet, and then she presses a quick kiss to Serena's cheek, "That's all that matters then."

Nate grins too, gaze fixed on her face as he agrees, explains that he won't be able to see it until the weekend, that he has a busy day scheduled, that he's really happy she found a place she liked so soon.

Blair laughs and says they'll need a decorator to at least _consult_ with when the decorating starts. Nate points out she's all the consulting decorator anyone could need.

And none of it does a thing to ease the alarm in Serena's gut – yeah, she loves her new place and there is most definitely something she doesn't know about it.

* * *

Serena's been waiting for the other shoe to drop all day.

It happens just after the furniture delivery men have left; there's a knock at her door and she swings it open, thinking it's them. She has a smile ready for Jeffery who's lived in 48 of the 50 states and Mark that wants her to call him if she's ever up for some truly amazing Thai food, but it freezes on her face.

"You should really check the peep hole," Jenny offers, after a beat of them staring at one another in silence.

"Jenny…" Serena blinks at her. It's been about a year, give or take a month, since the last time she'd seen the younger girl. There've always been text messages between them, e-mails on occasion, but mostly they've kept in touch in a vague out-of-touch way you'd expect from two girls who are not-quite-but-still-sort-of sisters.

"That'll have to go in my report," Jenny continues, lips quirking. She's wearing a maroon shade of lipstick that contrasts starkly with her skin tone, "Not very conscientious of you, is it?" She adds, brushes by Serena and walks inside.

Serena turns around slowly, shuts the door behind her. "Your… report…?" She questions, eyes Jenny as the girl inspects her striped-cloth couch.

Jenny looks at her, lifts an eyebrow, "Wouldn't be a bad way to make a couple grand would it?" She's still smirking, like there's a joke here.

Serena doesn't quite see it. "A report on…?"

"You, of course. Coming and goings, visitors, logging times, you know—the stuff his PI gives him, but with the added bonus of you not suspecting it."

And the picture forms in Serena's mind. "You live here?"

"Right below you," Jenny nods, her short blonde hair loose and bobbing around her face, "Almost two years."

Serena stares at her, speechless; unsure what to make of this development. She tugs at the sleeves of the long sweater she's wearing, crosses her arms in front of her, and murmurs, "Oh…" when the silence starts to weigh between them.

Jenny turns around from where she's been peering out of the window and Serena startles a little at how _vibrant_ she looks back-dropped against the dull gray of the walls. Bleach-blonde hair and a turquoise top that makes her blue eyes burn bright, she looks almost electric to Serena's eye; smiling and fidgeting a little with nervous energy, it makes her feel... tired, old.

"Oh come on," Jenny rolls her eyes, huffs as the smirk turns into a smile, "As _if_ I'd make a deal with Chuck. Plus I have a business to run; I can't spend all day monitoring your activities." She teases.

Serena feels like she's wrapped in cotton, reactions and thoughts dulled, "Chuck…?" She echoes, leans back against the door.

Jenny's smile dims a little, "Yeah…"

"Why would… Chuck…? What does Chuck have to do with this?"

"He owns the building."

"No…" Serena blinks, "No, he doesn't. Bass Inc. doesn't own this building." She knows. She checked.

"He owns whatever it is that owns this building." Jenny shrugs, moves towards the kitchen area. "You didn't have the faucets replaced?" She notes curiously. They're old, water stained; probably lead contaminated.

Serena's mouth is too dry, she can't swallow, can't speak; they knew, all three of them had known. She's trying to do something on her own and they'd all—

"Hey… you okay?"

Jenny's voice is closer than it had been and she realizes she'd closed her eyes.

"I'm not that bad of a neighbor," Jenny continues as Serena focuses her gaze on the girl's face. "Seriously. I won't ask to borrow your sugar or anything." There's concern lurking in the blue eyes and Serena looks away.

"It's not—yeah, I know. It'll be nice to have you around…" she clears her throat, "All of the pipes would've had to go with them…" she comments about the faucets.

But she says it quietly, maybe too quietly; because Jenny doesn't respond right away.

"Blair wants me to look out for anything that could be wrong," Jenny tells her, "Weird noises, strange smells, blood dripping from the ceiling…" she teases lightly.

And Serena blows out a quick breath, "Yeah, sure. I know." Jenny has nothing to do with this; this Blair and Chuck… and Nate even, thinking they can manage her life.

"You're upset."

"I'm furious, actually," Serena counters, words steady, low. She feels it bubbling slowly in her gut, _how dare they?_

Jenny runs fingers through hair, "I think they're just trying to look at for you."

"Right," Serena exhales slowly, keeps herself calm.

"Not that that makes it okay," Jenny backs up a little, perches on the armrest of one of Serena's new sofas, "At all."

And Serena's glare slips through, "Did you know Chuck owned this building when you moved here."

"No…" Jenny's head tilts to one side a little, gaze studying Serena, "I don't really think about it though…" she says carefully, "Does it matter?"

"Yes," she snaps, "It matters."

Jenny lifts her eyebrows, "Why?"

"Because I— I _picked_ this place and he— he _knew_ I would. He gave me choices, knowing I'd…" she blows out a breath and reigns in the desire to stomp her foot, "He's probably got a psychological profile on me or some— _ugh,_" she sighs roughly, lifts a hand to rub at her face, hard; ends wincing.

"It's not a big deal, Serena." Jenny says it easily, stands from her spot on the sofa, "Don't make it one. They're always like tha—"

"And I always let them—"

"Exactly," Jenny interrupts, "So don't let them. _You_ liked this place. It doesn't have anything to do with them."

Serena breathes out. "I know that." She does, on some level, "But it doesn't… make it any better." She admits and then eyes Jenny a little suspiciously, "Why doesn't this bother you?" The Jenny imprinted most clearly in her memory led renegade models in guerilla fashion shows and ran away from home- she didn't let others set the course of her life for her.

"Little sister bit," she shrugs casually, "Save your battles for when what they want doesn't go along with your plans," she advises, smirks a little, "You'll be less stressed out."

Serena stares at her for a beat and then huffs a laugh, nods a little. "How- how is Dan?" She wonders carefully.

Jenny shrugs, "Fine." She eyes Serena for a beat before adding, "You talked to him right?"

"Yeah, he's called me a few times..." she bites her bottom lip, thinks of the quick, quiet phone calls, "To check on me..."

Jenny nods, opens the cabinets in the kitchen. "He said he sent you something."

Serena licks her lip. He had. "Yeah." She just hadn't opened it yet.

Jenny frowns, shuts the last cabinet. "You're not actually living here  
yet right?"

Serena huffs a laugh. "No, not yet."

Jenny rocks back on her heels again, nods. "Right. So I'm gonna go."

"Oh… you don't have- are you sure?" She looks around. "I could find the glasses," she offers with a half smile, "Tap water okay?"

Jenny smirks at her, shakes her head. "You want some help unpacking...?"

"No. It's okay… thanks, though."

Jenny makes her way towards the door, "I'm right below you. Ground floor is Trevor, he's a painter, ridiculously tall; he doesn't get out much, but you'll see a lot people coming and going." She turns around, walks backwards so she can waggle her eyebrows at Serena, "Sometimes naked."

A laugh bubbles out of her, "Really?"

Jenny nods, "I'll text you." And then she's opening the door and disappearing out into the hall.

Serena stares after her for a moment, feels the smile on her lips fade. It'd been real though, for a second she'd really laughed, really _felt_ like laughing. She bit her bottom lip a little and glanced around the open space, it was good omen; things were going to be good here.

She was going to be good here.

* * *

Nate's there when she lets herself back into the house. He's on the couch, the television on, a beer in one hand; it's kind of painfully familiar in a way she knows she shouldn't feel.

She skims her gaze over him, then turns around and focuses her attention on locking up behind her. "You're here early...?" She responds after he calls a cheerful, _ Hey!"_

He stands up when she doesn't wait for answer, but walks through the living room. She kind of wishes he wouldn't, but she flashes him a smile anyway.

"It's Thursday," he says, follows her into the kitchen. "Early day for both of us, Blair's on her way..." he tilts his head, watching her, "You feeling okay?"

Serena rolls her eyes a little, tries not to wince. There's a headache throbbing at the back of her skull, hazing the edges of her vision; that he doesn't need to know about. "I forgot it was your early night, that doesn't mean I'm about to have a seizure." She opens a cupboard.

"I know," he reaches for the glass before her, holds it out to her, "I'm just asking."

"I'm fine." She snatches the glass from his hand and then cringes; way to show him she wasn't.

"Oh yeah?" The note of casual in his voice is deceptive, she knows.

Serena gives him a steady look, "Yeah." _Drop this._ Then she turns to the refrigerator, fills her glass with water.

When she turns around, he has one of her pain pills in his palm; holds it out to her wordlessly.

And she stares at it for a beat, sighs a little, "Nate..." If he could be less... _less_, her life would be so much easier.

She looks into his face and he gives her a half-smile, "Yes?"

"Nothing…" she takes the pill from his hand quickly, turns away from him to swallow it, and drains the glass of water without a word.

When she does turn to face him, he's leaning back against the counter, watching her.

"Where's Mia?" She moves to put the glass in the sink.

"Napping."

"Kinda late for that."

"I might have deviated from the schedule, a little bit." He grins at her, "Don't tell."

His smile echoes on her lips before she can stop it, "Blair'll know."

"There's a game on."

"Nathaniel Archibald, did you put your child to nap late so you could watch a _sports_ even uninterrupted?"

"That's not a bad thing…" he gives her a sheepish shrug, "Is it?"

"Ask me again at two in the morning," she teases.

His gaze sharpens, "Are you still not sleeping?"

And the amusement seeps out of her, she gives him an aggrieved look, "I'm fine."

"Okay," he responds easily, but his gaze is still heavy on her face. "Did you unpack at the apartment?"

She hears the real question in the pitch of his voice, _Did you overdo it?_ "No, but I met up with Jenny." She answers, lifts an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah…" he nods, "She lives there."

He says it like it's something that slipped his mind and not something he purposefully kept from her; she glares at him, it's worth the pang that pinches the back of her head. "Oh please Nate," she huffs and moves towards the doorway, "Don't give me that."

"Hey, hey…" he takes a step to the side, stands between her and the living room. "What-"

"You could have said something!" She snaps, "You knew she lived there, she basically admitted to being a built-in spy! And this morning—"

"Calm down…"

He touches her arm and she jerks away. "Don't _touch_ me," she hisses more vehemently than she needs to.

He flinches, rears back. "Serena…"

"And don't- don't tell me to calm down. I can take care of _myself_. I don't need you or Blair or Chuck to orchestrate my life for me!"

"That's not-"

"Do you know what it feels like to find out your choices aren't actually _yours_? That they're a result of a concocted plan that's fallen into place! That-"

"Stop." He snap it at her, gaze colliding with hers, "Stop it."

Serena starts, surprised, the words dying on her tongue; she's panting, she realizes abruptly, heart beating too fast and a hands clenched at her sides. She takes a step back, is more worked-up than she'd noticed, feels exhausted suddenly.

When Nate takes her arm, tugs her into the living room, she lets him; maybe leans into him a little. He sits them both down on the sofa and she waits just a few seconds, takes a deep breath, and disentangles herself from his hold.

Nate watches as she shifts back into the corner and when she's lifted her legs up, tucked them under herself and relaxed her head against the backrest he says quietly, "That's not what happened."

Serena closes her eyes, says, "Okay." She's too tired to argue about it anyway; he wasn't going to see it her way, it wasn't his job to see it her way. He saw it Blair's way and there was nothing… wrong with that, really.

He touches her knee gently and she flinches a tiny bit, doesn't open her eyes. "Look at me."

She doesn't want to; she wants to sit here until the aching in her head goes away and her breathing settles and she feels steady enough to go up the steps and crawl into bed.

"Serena…" his voice is soft, "Come on…" he hesitates, "Do you need me to take you upstairs?"

There's a bubble of her hurt in her gut; he has to know, she knows he _must_, that she can't have that. She can't let him do that. She opens her eyes, looks at him through lowered lashes, "I really… don't," she whispers.

He leans towards her, "Truth, okay."

She bites her bottom lip a little, feels tears prickle at the back of her eyes again; always so close to tears lately, "okay."

"They all had something."

She blinks, draws in a shaky breath. "What…?" _Does that mean?_

"All those properties— they all had something; doormen on payroll, neighbors who're colleagues, that kind of stuff."

She's going to cry; she feels it a half-second before her chin wobbles.

Nate's eyes widen in alarm, "Sere-"

She hides her face against the backrest of the sofa, wants to _disappear_.

"Serena…"

She shakes her head against the leather, holds a hand out to ward him off, because she knows, _knows_, he's going to—

He takes her hand and uses it to her tug her closer to him. "Hey… hey…"

She shakes her head again, "Just…" she can't find the words to explain though; and the tears welling in her eyes are starting to slip down her cheeks.

"What's going-?"

He's trying to pull her against him, to give her a hug, and she can't- she _can't_ have that. "I don't want-" her voice is choked with tears and she takes a breath that sounds too much like a sob.

"Serena, please…" he's smoothing her arms now, still trying to get her to settle down.

"It can't be pretend," she whispers, eyes closed, pushes at his chest ineffectively, "I have to- to do it and it-"

Nate turns himself towards her, knees on the couch, "It's not, don't cry, please, just… we're only trying to—"

He knows; he knows what she's talking about, he knows what he did, what they did – and it makes it worse, not better.

The tears won't stop now. "It can't be you or her or- it has to be-"

When Blair opens the door, she jumps. Nate turns wide and worried eyes to her and a beat later she's sliding in behind Serena, curling around her in a hug.

"Sweetie…"

And Serena stills, she can't fight them both.

Blair too, knows immediately what happened. "We love you so much," she whispers, mouth against Serena ear, arms wrapped around her. "We just- we're scared. We want to keep you safe… sweetie, please…" Blair kisses her cheek, rocks her a little.

And she wants to tell her, _them_, that it's drowning her; their love, all of it – for her, for each other, for Mia – all their love felt like it was smothering the life out of her.

But what she does is turn her face into Blair's shoulder, let her tears soak into her best friend's blouse, and when Nate slides his arms around her, under her knees, she keeps her eyes closed and pretends it away.

* * *

Blair's pacing when Nate descends the steps.

"What was _that?_" She hisses at him.

Nate presses his lips together, shrugs, "I think she's really tired… she had a headache too, took something when she—"

"You told her." Blair accuses, a hand at her hip.

He shrugs a little, "She knew, Jenny—"

"Nate…" Blair gives him a hard look.

And he sighs. "We shouldn't be hiding things from her anyway."

"Did she look capable of handling things to you?"

"She got… upset like that, _because_ we hid stuff from her."

"It's not like her to get like that, she was practically hysterical," Blair says quietly, "She's not ready to—"

"She feels tricked." Nate summarizes, glances at the floor. He can't exactly fault her for it either, it kind of _was_ a trick.

Blair opens her mouth and then shuts it again; blows out a breath and runs a hand over her face. "I didn't think…"

Nate moves closer to her, loops an arm around her waist.

"I didn't think she'd be this upset." Blair finishes quietly, lays her cheek against his chest. "That she'd see it like that."

"She's tired."

She smiles faintly, "You're sticking to that explanation, huh?"

"She's medicated too." He lowers a kiss to the top of her head, "We screwed up."

"Possibly." She sighs softly, "I just can't believe she really expected us to... just let her leave…"

"Technically…" Nate offers carefully, "She's an adult and we-"

"Coma." Blair pokes him the ribs hard, "We agre—"

"She doesn't think she needs—"

"Whose side are you _on_ here, Nate?"

He starts a little, leans back to look into her face, "That's not fair."

And Blair sighs. "I know. But we agreed as long as she's taking the anti-seizure medication we'd keep an eye on her and you going back on tha—"

"I'm not," he kisses her forehead. "I'm definitely not."

"Good."

"I'd just like to avoid today's little… disaster," He kisses her. "I hate to- to see her... like that," he adds softly, "You know…? It scares me a little."

Blair nods, "I know." She pulls back and kicks her shoes off, "Definitely not the best way to end the day." She bends to scoop them up. "Where's Mia?"

And Nate grimaces, remembering. He'd had plans to wake Mia up.

"Naaate?" Blair gives him a pointed look, "Where's Mia?" She glances around the room, focuses on the television for a beat and then lifts an exasperated expression to him, "Seriously?"

"I… may have extended her playtime when I got in…" he offers, smiles sheepishly, "And then her naptime."

"You're going to throw her whole schedule off," Blair scolds, frowns at him.

"I never get to watch games _live_ anymore," he laments, reaches out to pull her against him.

She pats his cheek, a little viciously, "Poor baby."

He winces, smiles, "I'll go get her."

Blair laughs a little, rolls her eyes, "Finish your game," she says easily, "She's already off for today… and I- I need to talk to Serena," she finishes more seriously.

He nods and they share a moment of quiet, before he smiles and kisses her, "Thank you."

She pushes him away, "You realize you're the one who's staying up with her when she won't go to sleep tonight?"

He laughs a little, watches her head for the stairs. "I was warned."

* * *

Serena's awake when Blair taps at the door lightly and pokes her head in. "Hey sweetie, can I…?"

It's a gesture of peace from Blair, an apology even, that she doesn't just stalk into the bedroom. Serena waves her in, doesn't move from where she's tucked underneath the duvet.

Blair sits up behind her, leans back against the headboard and wordlessly, she positions a pillow on her lap and they both shift so Serena's lying across it against Blair.

"How's your headache?" Blair wonders quietly, hands gently picking through the strands of Serena's hair.

"Fading… slowly," she admits.

They both fall silent then; comfortable and lulling, Serena's eyes start to slip shut. She was calm now, after her abrupt bout of tears. It hadn't made her feel better, that she'd quickly learned, was a lie; but she'd reclaimed control and she was satisfied with that.

"So…?" Blair says softly.

Serena lets her eyes close. "I had a meltdown," she offers, then adds resentfully, "And you lied to me."

"I didn't—"

"Blair—" she sighs, tilts her face up a little even though her eyes are closed.

And Blair sighs too. "I omitted information."

Serena shifts again, tucks her face against the pillow, "I know after a meltdown is not the time to insist you stop treating me like child, but I reall—"

"We're not treating you like a child," Blair interrupts seriously, she lowers her head, touches her forehead to Serena's, "I just want you to be okay, safe."

"And I just want to- to move _past_ this."

"I know, Sweetie, but… not so fast, okay?" She kisses Serena's forehead, "Just, slow down." It feels like she's said nothing else for weeks now, but she doesn't care. She'll keep saying it, she's not letting go.

Serena opens her eyes a little, "Did you ask Chuck do that? Those properties?"

"No." Blair straightens, "He did that on his own. He called us, to let us know."

"Oh."

"Are you mad at him too now?"

Serena pretends to think about, doesn't hold back the little smile that makes its way onto her face, "Yes."

"To be honest, I was hoping you wouldn't choose the Humphrey infested one, but what're you gonn— ow!"

Serena's smile widens a little after she elbows Blair. "Jenny _told_ me you talked to her." She points out.

Blair shrugs, caught out. "Well I figured you _would_ choose the dump."

"Blair…!" It propels a wry laugh out of Serena.

"I'm not saying it's a lost cause."

"I like that place."

"Hm, yes. I know… I knew you would."

Serena shifts a little so she can look up into Blair's face, "Why?"

Blair's soft fingers touch her cheeks carefully, "Because it's rough around the edges, little bit run down, needs to be fixed… but it's going to be amazing when you're done with it, unique and fun..." slide gently down the bridge of Serena's nose, "It just needs time."

"I want to fix it." Serena whispers after a beat of silence.

Blair takes her hand, "You're going to fix it."

She breathes in that confidence, "Yeah…?"

Another kiss to her cheek and then Blair confirms steadily, "Yeah."

* * *

"You," Serena hisses as she bends down to grab a cushion as she walks by the sofa, "Are kind of an asshole." She smacks Chuck with it hard; get's in three good whacks before he manages to leap out of his chair and back away from her.

"Serena!" He yelps, "What the hell?"

She hurls it at him, "You manipulated me!"

"Excuse me?" He rubs at his face, looks at her with startled eyes, "What are you—"

"The properties, Chuck!"

He blinks. "Oh, that."

And she blows out a rough breath, "_Yes_, Chuck. That."

He rolls his eyes, lifts his hands to pat his hair down . "Did you not find any of them to your liking?"

"You know that's not the problem."

"There's a problem?" He wonders innocently.

And Serena glares at him; she'd slept straight through the night the day before and stayed in bed until both Blair and Nate had left the house. The first thing on her agenda today was this: ream Chuck out for behind a deceptive asshole.

"Spying on me is not why—"

"But spying _is_ why you came to me isn't it?"

Her breath leaves her on a rush and her glare falters. "Are you going to throw that in my face at every conversation we have now?" She accuses quietly.

"Only the ones where you physically attack me," he pouts a little, rubs at his arm.

She stares at him, feels a little pout of her own on her face.

"I was going to call you today," he adds after a moment of petulant silence between them.

She swallows hard, "You- you were?" She'd been waiting for days to hear from Chuck, about... the boy.

Chuck nods, takes a step towards his chair and then arcs an eyebrow.

Serena blows out a breath and take a step back, "Why?" She asks, anxious despite herself. She doesn't move around the desk, stands over him and waits. "Did you...?"

"Sit down," he says seriously.

And her hearts stutters a beat. "Did you find something?"

"Hmh," he waves towards a seat, "Sit, Serena."

"What did you find out?"

"I think you should—"

"Chuck!" She snaps, "Just tell me what you found—"

"— him." Chuck snaps back, "I found him."

* * *

**.tbc.**


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Gossip Girl" or any of its characters/plots.

**Author's Note**: Thank you so much to those who have reviewed/pm'd, I appreciate your comments and input. Thank you for reading!

* * *

"It's what you wanted isn't it?" Chuck poses the question after too many seconds of silence. She's gaping at him a little bit and there's a quiet pang of remorse in his gut.

The words jar her out of a haze and she realizes abruptly she needs to breathe, draws in a deep breath and licks her lips. "Yes. You... you know it is."

He nods at her, says, "Sit down," again, more gently this time.

But she doesn't move, feels a little bit like someone on the brink of… something; about to step off. She shakes her head, gaze dropping from his face; this is what she wanted, _wants_, she wants this, she reminds herself.

Chuck stands from his chair and walks towards her, takes her elbow carefully and guides her around the desk. He moves past the chairs and leads them both to the sofa instead; she lets him and he knows that doesn't bode well for this conversation.

"Where is he?" She asks as soon as they've seated themselves.

"Serena—"

"Where—"

"Listen to me," he says sharply, shifts entirely to face her.

And her mouth goes dry, "Why- what—?"

"I need you to really think about this," he says smoothly, dark eyes locked with hers.

"Chu- we talked about this already," she responds after a beat of silence, "I have. I really have."

"Once you know something, it tends to be forever," he clarifies his meaning, "Be sure you're willing to live with that."

There's something about his tone, it makes her skin prickle, makes her stiffen. "Chuck…" her mouth is dry; she licks her lips, "Wha- did you…? What did you find?" She hesitates, "About him? Where is he?"

"Your life," he tries again, "... is unwieldy enough as it is right now; consider carefully if now is really the time for this?"

"Just tell me."

"Take another day, really consider what you're aski—"

"I don't need another day!" She snaps at him, glaring.

He presses his lips together, lifts an eyebrow at her. _Really?_

And she takes a moment to reign in her bout of temper before adding, "I don't need another _second_ even. _Where,_ Chuck?"

He stares at her for another beat and then leans back resignedly, answers, "Portland."

Serena blows out a soft breath, something inside her uncoiling even as she leans forward more urgently— a place, a real place for a real boy that she'd pretended away. "What else?"

"Serena—"

"Chuck." She interrupts, irritated with him, "Did you or did you not do this for me?"

He watches her for another beat and then lifts a hand to his face, rubs at his eyes. "I did." He agrees quietly, hunches down a bit..

"Then tell me. Everything. I want to know everything."

He lifts his eyes to her, their gazes meeting, "No you don't." He stands up again, moves to the sidebar, "You want me to tell you his name and what he looks like and that he's okay."

There's a breath that catches in her throat, goosebumps on her skin, and the question tumbles out of out her mouth as she watches him pour a drink, "Isn't he?"

Chuck swirls the liquid in his glass, stares at it for a beat before answering, "It's relative, I suppose."

Her jaw clenches. "Just _tell_ me," she forces the demand past her lips.

He hesitates and she jumps up from the sofa, can't sit still suddenly; moves towards his desk, "Where's the file?"

He watches her, says wearily, "Serena..." and takes a gulp of his scotch.

"You had one put together, right?" She rounds his desk. "Of course you did," she answers the question herself, "You always do."

"The boy is fine."

But she doesn't believe him anymore. The way he's going about this, the reticence, the way his eyes won't stop warning her away – he's holding something back.

"He's fine." Chuck repeats.

The words make her flinch; she can't believe him. They're an obvious lie and she lifts dark blue eyes to his face, "Give it to me, Chuck."

He stares back, holds her gaze. "Shitty things happen to good people."

Her breath hitches a little, she shakes her head, "My grandmother said- she said she'd find- that there'd be a good home, that-"

"There was," Chuck interrupts, "Blonde, blue-eyed, infant boy. He was in the system for the blink of an eye."

Serena considers that for a moment and then goes back to opening the drawers of Chuck's desk, she pulls out a stack of folders and starts flipping through them, unsure of what she's looking for – just, she'll know it when she sees it.

"It's not there," he tells her.

"Where is it then?" She snaps, head lifting again.

He finishes the drink, refills it. "Sit," he tilts his head towards the sofa, moves to it.

"Are you going to-"

"Yes."

The office is still, silent, for a breath and then she straightens, moves around the desk and towards him again. There's a headache starting to the echo at her temples and she wants, _needs,_ to get through this, before it blooms.

"Cece was right," he nods, eyes on her face, as they both resume their seats, "He was adopted into a good family."

She breathes in, nods once, doesn't look away from his face.

"Heather and Richard Warner," Chuck recites, "Adoptive parents to Matthew Warner."

_Matthew._ The name rings in her thoughts, swirling with possibilities and for a moment all she can see is an imagined little boy with blonde curls and a blue sweater vest; a silly smile and bright blue eyes—

"A match made in aquatic heaven," he continues, waves a hand, "She was a marine biologist, he was an oceanographer."

The name is blotted out by that word – said twice, _was._ Panic wells up inside her so fast she can't breathe, it's a sudden, unacknowledged terror, rising up to swallow her whole. She opens her mouth, tries to ask, but it's just a gasp of air that escapes her lips.

Chuck reaches a hand out, looks a little alarmed; the brief attempt at levity gone.

She jerks away, finds breath enough to ask, "Was?"

And his hand drops, "There was an accident; they didn't survive."

Serena stares, lips parted, thoughts at a standstill.

"Small plane went down over the Caribbean sea during a storm," he explains, "The boy wasn't on it."

There's darkness sweeping in from the sides of her vision and she lowers her head, leans forward, elbows on her knees and hides her face in her hands. He touches her shoulder lightly after a moment and she doesn't shrug his hand away; focuses on breathing, on pushing through the veil of panic. When she lifts her head the world tilts and her lashes are wet, she's not thinking it— she's not, she can't… but it's there anyway… the meaning of what he's saying, she feels it in her heart suddenly - _knows._

"There's an aunt," Chuck continues, hand sliding off her shoulder, "Hers. In Oregon City It's where he went initially. But she's older and the living situation didn't work out."

She goes tense all over, rigid, and pain stabs at the back of her head. He's implying it, telling her without saying the words and she can't-

"There was a couple that had him directly after. It also, did not work out."

She doesn't respond, stares at him with unblinking eyes; he touches her knee gently, "No place has worked out."

Their gazes hold for a breath and then she pushes up from the sofa again. She doesn't know what that means, she _can't_ know what that means, "What are you—" she rubs at her face, turns away from him as she mumbles, "That can't be right. Why— it can't…"

The office is quiet; she paces away from him. "That can't be right," she says again, "It can't. You- are you sure you have the right- the right boy…"

He doesn't answer; doesn't need to. It's not really a question at all; of course he has the right child. He watches her pace the room in silence and Serena runs shaky fingers through her short hair, tries to not hear the answers in Chuck's silence.

"He was supposed to go to a good home." She whispers, stops to stare at him.

"He did." Chuck replies after the silence stretches too long. It's not what she means.

"Where is he now?"

The question is soft, skirting the edges of the issue, and Chuck doesn't hesitate. He tells her, "He's in a group home."

"What does- that can't- what does that even mean…?" She shakes her head, feels the headache picking up steam.

"It means he's a ward of the state," Chuck shrugs. "Foster homes haven't worked out."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

"How could they not work out?"

"I don't know-"

"How could there be no one else?"

"Sere—"

"Not one person in their entire life?" Her voice is rising and she can't stop it, "Not a parent or a sibling or _someone…?_"

"I don't kno—"

"It doesn't make sense," even to her own ears she's starting to sound frantic, has to swallow past the lump in her throat, "It can't- how could this _happen?_"

"Serena-"

"No. It just- it can't happen. How could-" she shakes her head again, hard, so it hurts. "No. It has to be a different boy. It has to be- she said, we were _assured_ he would go to- to a good—"

"He di—"

"No!" She shouts it, "That's not how this turns out! It can't- it's not—" she can't catch her breath.

Chuck gets up, moves to stand in front of her. She shakes her head again, her hands coming up like she wants to push him away, push all of this away. He puts the glass in her hands and she doesn't even pause, she drinks it in one long gulp.

"They were a good home, Serena."

There're tears in her eyes suddenly, "He was supposed to have a Mom and a Dad and dog."

Chuck takes the glass back; "Yeah…" he moves to refill it.

She doesn't say anything while his back is turned, stares at the carpet of his office in a stupor; the tears sitting unshed, unmoving, in her eyes. When he comes back, he has a glass for her all her own – and she takes it without comment. They don't sit; he stands across from her and waits. She drinks the scotch without pausing for breath.

"I can have a car drive you home," he offers when she reaches the bottom.

She doesn't answer, turns away from him. There's a blurry effect in her vision now and she's not sure if it's the alcohol or the headache – doesn't really care. She sets the glass on the bar, stares at the polished wood. She has a son. She can still remember having that thought for the first time; it didn't come right after he was born, she hadn't allowed it; hadn't given herself the chance to think of anything pertaining to that baby. It hadn't come until weeks and weeks later, pulling back from Blair's hug and looking into her brown eyes, _"tell me everything?"_ the brunette had demanded of her time away – and Serena's first thought, the first words rising to her tongue had been _"I have a son."_

She'd bitten the words back, gone in for another hug to hide the sudden flinch she hadn't been able to hold back – over a decade later and those words had still never made it past her lips.

She has a son; and he doesn't have anyone.

"When?"

He gives her a curious look and she realizes she might not need complete sentences. She turns back to face him, "When did they die? The- the parents…"

He sighs a little, clearly reluctant, but answers her anyway. "He was eight."

She presses her lips together, leans back against the bar; her fingers folding around the edge. "Why don't you know things?" It's a valid question.

"I just had a preliminary investigation done," Chuck frowns a little, "I didn't get his case file."

"Get it then," Serena retorts.

He stares and then downs his drink in one gulp. "Can I counsel against this?"

"If you want to waste your breath."

"You should tell someone that isn't me," he determines after a moment, approaches the bar as well. "Someone that can… help."

"You can help by getting me the case file."

"That's not what I mean," he gives her a pointed look before reaching for the decanter, "You're having issues with this… which, fine. I get it. But there's quite literally no way you could have predicted this… so really, you're entirely absolved."

She stares at the liquid as it fills his glass, considers briefly having another drink; there's strange comfort in the burning sensation that numbs your throat, the way it pools in your stomach for an instant, hot and heavy, before seeping away.

"You did nothing wrong," Chuck continues when she doesn't respond, "I mean you said it, you were giving the child…" he waves his glass a bit, "The chance at a nuclear family, pup and all."

She stares at the spot where the glass had been for another beat and then lifts her gaze to his, "It's a nice party line right?" It twists inside of her, bitterness and remorse and truth. "I wanted to give him a better life, a more stable life…"

Chuck's gaze hardens abruptly. "Don't do this to yourself," he warns.

"What? Admit it?" She shrugs, the casual gesture brittle, "You know how I found out?" She forces a laugh, doesn't wait for an answer, "I passed out drunk at a party, someone must of dropped me off at the ER." She glances away, "They had a fake name, from a fake ID… I thought that was pretty lucky." She says quietly.

She turns her gaze back to him before continuing, "It was about me… giving that baby up; _I_ couldn't do it. I didn't want to… to have to tell everyone," it sounds so ridiculous now, so inconsequential; but it'd been monumental then, to her fifteen-year-old mind having everyone find out would spelled the end the of everything, "To have to- to tell Blair. Nate. It was- it was _easier_." It's still easier.

Chuck's jaw clenches and he glares at her, "It would have fucked us all up worse if you'd kept that kid."

"You don't know that. Nobody knows that." But it's what she has to believe, he's giving it to her, letting her have it; it would have been worse. It was bad enough, when Blair found out, it broke what they all were enough – a baby, that baby… they might never have recovered.

"Do you really think—"

"It's not like I was fifteen and destitute," she interrupts, feels something like a sob building in her chest; distant, but there. "I could have kept him."

"That's right. You could have married your best friends boyfriend and proceeded to raise a family with him," Chuck rolls his eyes.

"That's not- I wouldn't have—"

"Marriage to Nathaniel is a certainty if you'd kept that child, Serena."

"No," she can't let herself think that, "That's not—"

He sighs roughly, drops the glass on the bar hard. "Don't be daft."

Her jaw clenches and she glares at him hard. "I wouldn't have married Nate. I wouldn't have done that to her."

Chuck looks away; and Serena feels a pang of guilt. There'd been Chuck and Blair once… in-between Nate and Blair, and she wondered sometimes what-

"The kid had a good life." Chuck offers.

And she blows out a breath, brushes the errant thought away. "It's not so good now is it?"

"There's nothing you can do about that," Chuck sighs, "So—"

"Get me the file." She cuts in, hesitates and then nudges his arm, "Okay?"

"You're being masochistic."

Her head tilts towards his, "You would know."

A smirk ghosts his lips, "Hmh…"

"The file, Chuck. Everything.. I need… I need to see everything," her voice cracks a little and she looks away.

He doesn't answer; and she thinks he's not going to until there's a clink of glasses near her arm. He bumps them together and she starts, looks down at them. "Give me a few days."

She touches the rim of one the glasses, circles with her fingertip. "Okay... thank you."

He doesn't ask her what she's going to do with it; which is good, because she'd say she doesn't know.

* * *

The Bass car takes her directly home; a silent ride that passes in a haze, half-thoughts slipping and sliding through her mind. The dull ache at the back of her head had spread outwards, reaching to her temples and into her eyes, black spots and dancing blurs flitting across her vision.

The car door is opened for her, a hand held out, a quiet, serious offer to walk her to her door; and she considers it, has difficulty keeping her eyes open, but murmurs a quiet, "No thank you," instead. She doesn't need yet another health report of her circulating back to Chuck, to Blair and-

She uses his hand to pull herself out of the car; makes her way inside her building and into the elevator. He's a ward of the state, her child; except he isn't anyone's child. The thoughts keep looping around in her mind, important and meaningless. The hallway spins once when she steps out into it, she presses a hand against the wall to steady herself, takes a slow, deep breath. Four years, he'd been nobody's child for almost four years.

There's a pressure building up in her chest, familiar and agonizing, the need to _do_ something coupled with an inability to move, to get it, anything, _right_; half-a-dozen shots and losing herself inside a stranger usually fixes it right up, but today she'd settle for screaming herself hoarse and the sound of breaking glass.

She's making her way slowly to her door, feeling like every step is through knee-high snow, when she sees him. Eric is leaning back against the wall by her door, attention on the phone in his hands. She hesitates, relieved he has yet to see her; it gives her the chance to straighten up a little, to breathe out and clear her expression, blink away tiredness as much as she can and pull up a smile for him.

"Hey," she greets, tries to infuse her voice with anything but the weariness she's feeling.

He looks up, pushing off the wall and pocketing the phone simultaneously, "Hey!" He grins at her, takes a step towards her, "How— oh." He doesn't finish the question and Serena lets the smile fall from her face.

"That bad?" She wonders wryly.

He takes the keys from her, "You look like you're fifteen seconds from passing out," he answers, puts a hand to her back.

She sighs, leans her shoulder against the wall as he opens her door. "What're you doing here?" She wonders, closes her eyes.

"Day off, went to see you at Blair's..." he leaves the rest unsaid, takes her arm at the elbow and turns her into the apartment.

"Sorry," she mumbles, blinks her eyes open, "Totally meant to mention the not really living there anymore thing... Blair told you then?"

"She used air quotes about it," Eric admits, locks the door behind them.

Serena tries another smile as she turns to face him, but it fades as easily as the first. "I'm sure."

"What'd you do today?" He wonders.

"Too much," she answers quickly, that usually staves off the barrage of questions – if she just admits to what they're already thinking.

He laughs a little, "I'm actually wondering," he defends, "Not accusing."

She licks her lips, brings a hand to her temple as she drops her purse onto the sofa. "Sorry... I just..." she trails off, smiles again; it holds up better this time, "No tie today?" She teases.

"I don't wear ties when I'm _off_ Serena," he rolls his eyes, glances around the loft.

"I coulda sworn it was tattooed on by now," she teases, perches on an armrest.

"It's been a long time since you've caught me on a non-working day or event," he retorts, quirks his lips at her as he wanders over to the windows.

"I like you in a t-shirt," she smiles again, real this time, "You look like my little brother again..."

Eric turns towards her, tilts his head, "I'm always your little brother."

She breathes out, "Yeah..." the smile falters, "I know."

He moves towards her, "I was thinking we could spend the day together," he says quietly, "We haven't gotten to since you moved back."

She looks up at him as he comes to a stop in front of her, "Doing what?"

"Whatever you want."

"I'm into picking paint colors lately..." she says quietly, motions towards a wall where she has three swatches of yellow painted, "Not very interesting..."

He glances over at it, "I like the middle one."

"I..." she looks over too, "I don't know..." her voice wobbles abruptly and she clamps her lips shut tightly.

He glances at her in alarm, "What's wrong...?"

"Nothing..." She blows out a breath, "It's just... a choice, I have to decide... and I don't- I'm not-" _every decision I make is a mess._

"It's just a color," Eric says gently, touches her shoulder, "Hey... look at me, if you don't like it after, you can have it re-painted."

"No," she keeps her gaze on the wall for another beat, stares at it unblinkingly, "It's not that easy... you make a choice and that's it, it's done."

"Serena...?" His fingers curl around her shoulder.

There's a note of worry in his voice that seeps through the fugue she's sinking into, she starts, looks up at him.

"What's wrong?"

She inhales, "Sorry, E," she shakes her head, winces, "I'm just... I'm not very good company right now," she whispers.

"You feeling sick?" He asks.

She wishes she could squash that note in his voice. "Tired. Headache-y."

"Ah..." he lowers a kiss to the top of her head. "Meds?"

She thinks about it for less than a second and then says, "Yeah." Pills would help her not think, just for a little while she needs to not think. He steps back and she moves to the kitchen area, finds her pain pills and takes one, chases it with a glass of water.

In the silence, Eric studies the mess of her living room; boxes still only half-unpacked and clothes strewn on the sofas, she's never been particularly neat and now she has even less energy for it. He stops at a stack of magazines, she knows which ones too, the ones with her on the cover.

"I liked this shoot a lot," he offers as she walks back into the living room, "The colors were gorgeous."

She doesn't look at, "Thanks." She stops a few feet from him, "I think... I'm going to— I need, for a little while, to just..." she rubs at her face, "I'm kind of—"

"Exhausted? In need of a nap?" He finishes for her.

She sighs, "I'm sorry...""

"It's fine... and anyway, I didn't say I was leaving..." he smiles, "I'll wait."

She huffs before she can stop herself, "You don't have to-"

"I'm not babysitting you, S." He interrupts, lifts an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of their mother, "I just want to spend time with you... all you do is hang-out with the Archibald's... I'm feeling neglected," he gives her an exaggerated pout.

Her lips quirk upwards despite that word, plural, _Archibald's_; she wonders vaguely if she'll ever stop noting it, if someday it would just be a word and not a parable of trust. "You know I can't say no when you pout," she teases and feels her eyes droop a little.

"Come on," he says softly, "I'll walk you to your room..."

"How do know where..." she needs a breath mid-sentence, "... it is?"

"Same layout as Jenny's," he tells her, "This is great for me..." he adds with a grin, "One stop visiting..."

She laughs softly, feeling sleepy already, tilts her head to lean against his, "I'm happy to accommodate."

"You could have stayed with me, you know?" He says as they walk into her room, "If you didn't want to stay with Blair and Nate anymore."

She drops down onto the mattress when she's close enough, closes her eyes as she answers him. "I wanted to stay by myself."

He makes a noncommittal, "Hmh," sound, helps her lie back.

She keeps her eyes closed, kicks off her shoes, and peels back the covers. "I did. I'm older than you, remember? I'm allowed."

He lays a hand in her hair, where there's a scar under her hair, "I know..."

"Yeah," she scoffs tiredly, "You all know."

He's quiet for a beat and then the hand is gone, "Sleep. I might even order dinner..."

She listens to his steps, the closing of the door, and then turns on her side; refuses to have any more thoughts, just plunges herself into the darkness of sleep.

* * *

She wakes up to the sound of high-pitched giggling, is still groggy and dry-mouthed; her room is dim and it takes her a moment, a blessed second in which she remembers Eric and no-tie, before everything else about that day rushes in around her.

_Matthew._

The name makes her skin prickle, her throat tighten, feels like it's going to suffocate her. She sits up abruptly and the room lurches around her sickeningly before settling enough for her to set her feet on the floor. Old habits die hard and there's an instinctive need to _move_ thrumming inside of her, to get away from this information and this reality and never look back.

She laughs softly at herself and ends up in a coughing fit she hopes nobody hears; because running has worked so well for her in the past. She sits on the bed, head in her hands and breathes, focuses on not crying, on not thinking about a baby boy who should have had everything and ended up with nothing.

She's not sure how long she's been out when she wanders out into her living room, but she finds Eric still there like he'd said he would be – and Jenny with him.

They're sitting on the sofa, a scrabble board laid between them, grinning at each other.

"No! No!" Jenny announces, laughs as she points at him and then the board, "That's not a word! I call."

"It's totally a—"

"It's definitely not," she argues, shoves Eric in the arm. She's chewing gum, hair pulled up in high bob, wearing torn stockings and plaid knee-highs; Eric shoves her back, points the dictionary at her menacingly before starting to flip through the pages.

A smile creeps over Serena's face, they look like they're in high school still; young and playful, and it's nice to have that in her living room.

"You're up!" Jenny exclaims, "Come tell Eric devianance is not a word."

Eric grins at her, "Hey! I invited Jenny up..." he shoots the girl a look, "I've forgotten why. Sorry."

Serena laughs a little, rubs at her face.

"Because I'm a joy to be around, Eric van der Woodsen."

"There's pizza," Eric continues, "We ordered for you too."

Serena walks over to the box, peers inside, "Not really hungry..."

Eric's standing beside her suddenly, "I would heat it up if you had a microwave."

"You need a TV," Jenny calls, "Or an IPOD station." She's in the kitchen too suddenly, "We couldn't find your laptop."

"I haven't moved it over yet," Serena admits, "I'm kind of splitting my time..." she pokes at the slice Eric sets in front of her, "Between here and Blair's."

"Oh," Jenny grabs the plate and turns back to the living room, "Come play with us."

"Not big on... reading letters right now, Jenny," Serena smiles, "Gives me a headache."

"You can eat pizza and watch Eric cheat."

"I don't cheat," Eric whispers conspiratorially, slings an arm around her shoulders, "She doesn't know how to spell."

Serena laughs again, leans into him.

Jenny sits on the floor this time, legs folded underneath herself and Eric leads her to one end of the sofa, sits at the other side. He and Jenny play themed games – only nick-at-night shows, only broadway, only 70's rock bands – and she eats and watches them. Eric gets her a glass of water and Jenny makes a fuss out of _La Mancha_ being two words not one.

"Is this yours?" Serena asks on a laugh, after they've argued with so much vehemence they knocked pieces off the board.

"Yeah," Jenny crawls around looking for it, "Dan sent it as a house warming present- got it!" She move back to her spot, "Can't be a Humphrey without it he claims."

Serena smiles, "That's really nice."

"His need to stock me up with lame board games?"

"Redundant," Eric chirps.

Jenny tosses the piece at his head.

"His love of scrabble hasn't changed," Serena amends.

Jenny grins, "Change is for interesting people."

"Jenny!" Serena laughs. "He's interesting..."

"He teaches American Lit, Serena," Jenny says dully, gives a mock yawn, "I get drowsy thinking about it."

She shrugs, "I think it's interesting."

Jenny rolls her eyes, "Just never ask him about it while I'm around and we're good," she grins.

They play another two games and Serena eats another slice of pizza. By the time they leave she's almost forgotten. Almost.

Jenny gives her a quick hug and says she'll see her later, has her scrabble board tucked beneath her arm. Eric's hug is longer, tighter, "You're feeling better?"

She nods, their cheeks pressed together, "So much better... thanks, E."

"I'll call you later," he says, slips out of the room.

Serena waves at him when he gets in the elevator, shuts the door slowly when it's out of sight. She stares at the closed door for a beat before turning to the quiet apartment.

Her headache is gone, there's still a drowsy feeling in her head, remnants from the pill. She wanders around living, picks up the random article of clothing with the intent to fold it, give it a place, but it ends up a few feet away, discarded again. Her slow tour around the room ends at the stack of magazines.

She's wearing a lavish purple and silver gown on the cover of the top one, her hair arranged in perfect ringlets atop her head, just a few masterful curls hanging loose around her face. She doesn't remember the shoot. She looks at the one underneath it, green cocktail dress; the under that, yellow bikini; the next one, red mini-dress.

There're flashes of memories for some, nothing for others – shoots were usually surrounded by parties, alcohol, sometimes drugs. She sighs, lets the stack drop again. She'd never learned, not once, from her mistakes.

She makes her way back to the kitchen, the pizza box is empty, Eric had put the plates and glasses in the sink for her. She puts the box in the trash and turns the water on over the dishware. For a moment, she has every intention of washing the dishes, of putting them away and taking a shower, crawling back into bed and waking up tomorrow to unpack another box.

The moment passes, the water starts to steam; she turns it off and rubs at her face, blows out a breath. The restless feeling inside her is pulsating, crawling underneath her skin, she knows what it means, what'll cure it – but she can't, won't. For once, this time, she's going to learn. She paces the kitchen for a moment, fills a glass with water from the tap, drinks it in one long gulp.

She licks her lips, glances around the silent apartment; _it means he's a ward of the state_, she bites her lip, blots out Chuck's voice. There's a part of her that knows she could call Blair, could go to their house and hide with them, turn this, all of it, off and nothing had to change, nothing had to be different. She could stay with them, they'd keep her safe— insulated, with them she could pretend. Chuck would never say a word, like her Grandmother, it would disappear into a void of silence with all the things that aren't real enough to merit mention. She could giggle with Blair and play games with Mia and- and watch games with Nate.

_Shitty things happen to good people._ She bites her lip again; and shitty people shouldn't get to pretend it away. She won't, she breathes out, she can't do this again to this boy, she can't turn away when he-

Serena cuts the thought off before she can see where it leads; can't deal with it right now, with anything… she needs… she needs to not think. The bottle of pain pills is in her hand before she really registers what she's going to do.

She's fully three hours early for another pill and she takes another one anyway.

She'll think tomorrow.

* * *

There's a hand smoothing through her hair gently, a thumb smoothing her cheek softly, and she turns into the touch, knows who it is before she's awake enough to open her eyes.

"Come on, Serena," he says softly, "I want to see your eyes," he prods, "Been missing them."

She's not sure why he says that or why she feels the sting of tears in response to it, she nuzzles her face into his hand and he laughs a little, "Nap time's over, honey. It's been almost twenty hours, by our count." His fingertips rub at her scalp, "You have to wake up now," he says more firmly.

She shifts in the bed, licks her lips, they feel dry, chapped.

"Wake up and I'll give you water," he offers, "Wake up and you can have sorbet."

Her eyes flicker open and he's a hazy shadow in her vision, she shuts them again, "... wan' ice cream."

"Not at this rate," he says gently, "You have a doctor's appointment in a half hour."

She scrunches her face up in a frown, "No... do not."

"You've been asleep for almost or over twenty hours, did I mention that?" He says and there's really not teasing in his voice.

She blinks her eyes open slowly, stares at the shadow until it comes into focus; sharpens into Nate, watching her with worried blue eyes, "Nate..." she says hoarsely.

"Hey..." he smiles faintly, but it doesn't do much to assuage the concern on his face.

"What're you-" she coughs, tries to sit up and the room moves on her; the ceiling reaching for the floor and floor rising up to meet it, "Whoa-" she falls back, closes her eyes.

"Careful," Nate says softly; then he's lifting her up a little, pressing the rim of a glass to her lips. "One tiny sip," he warns.

Serena does, lets it wet her lips and soothe her throat.

He settles her back down onto the pillow and she takes a deep breath, feels the room steady a bit behind her eyelids. "What're you doing here?" She wonders, opens her eyes carefully.

He's sitting at the edge of her bed, looking down at her, "We were calling you..." he says.

She lifts a hand and rubs at her face dazedly, "Oh...?"

"For a day."

"Mhm..." she thinks there's something wrong with that, she doesn't remember getting a call, "I don't remem-"

"You've been asleep for a long time," he says.

And she realizes he's said that before, turns her face to look at him, "Oh."

"Too long," he clarifies, rests a hand against her forehead, "Blair came over and you wouldn't open the door."

She stares at him, she doesn't remember that either; she doesn't really remember anything at the moment – except that she, she wanted this... she wanted to not remember, to sleep and sleep.

"She had the door taken off the hinges before I even got here."

She blinks, frowns a little, "She... what?"

"She had it put back, no harm done."

"My door...?" She blinks heavily.

"S'probably better if you give her a key."

She sighs, shifts a little closer to him, can't help it. "I don't... know," she whispers. She's not one-hundred-percent sure she understands what's going on here - there's something important she doesn't want to remember.

His thumb smoothes her eyebrows gently, "I know we're being annoying with this," he offers quietly, "But you have to bear with us, because... because we don't know how else to be. You scare us... and we- we..."

There's a pause, a hesitation that fills everything in, reminds her of everything.

"... love you," he finishes carefully.

It floods back over her; the baby she tried so hard to pretend away that grew up into a boy who isn't anyone's. She sits up abruptly; dislodging his touch and scooting away from his so fast she feels nauseous. Their baby. _Nate's_ baby.

"Serena! Hey, hey!" He says in quick succession, shifting towards her on the bed, arms outstretched. "What's—"

"I'm sorry," she blurts out, turns wide eyes to him, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it's fine," his hand is on her arm, "Don't get upset."

She shakes her head, winces when it hurts a little, presses the pad of a hand against her eyes, _it's not okay._

"Lean back," he offers, piles the pillows behind her.

Tears sting her eyes, "I'm so sorry," she whispers, ducks her head, _don't hate me._

He rubs her arm soothingly, "It's okay, we overreact. Well, _Blair_ overreacts," he tries to tease, "And then infects me..." it's too forced to be real though.

The room is quiet then, he tugs her a little closer, into him for a half-hug, and she lets him; doesn't have the energy to fight it. "Blair's making you Dorota's soup," Nate informs her, after she settles against his side.

"Mia?" Serena whispers, closes her eyes.

"Playing with a box."

She can hear the smile in his voice, it makes her ache inside; she lets herself lean into him, rests her against his chest and listens to his heartbeat for a second; she takes a deep breath and then pushes at him. "Go get'er..." she says thickly, moving away from him.

"Yeah?" He confirms.

His eyes light up though and she knows he's already half way there, "Yeah..." she assures. "I miss her."

"Be right back," he offers, gives he a quick half-hug and then bounds out of the room.

She blows out a breath when he's out of sight, sinks back into the pillows; she feels bone-deep tired, nothing at all like she's slept for a day. She remembers taking the other pill now, remembers Jenny and Eric and their laughter, remembers pizza and scrabble, remembers Chuck and their clinking glasses; the entire file, everything.

She remembers everything and it's time to think about it.

* * *

**.tbc.**


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Gossip Girl" or any of its characters/plots.

* * *

"Do _not_ fall asleep again."

Serena starts, opening her eyes to find Blair in her doorway; hair is tied back and a serious expression on her face. She's wearing a cardigan in a pretty jewel green and Serena blinks again as it comes into focus slowly. She realizes hazily that she _had_ been falling asleep.

"Nate said you wanted to see Mia," Blair continues, her gaze is heavy on Serena's face.

And the blonde averts her eyes, shifts upwards a little on her pillows, "Yeah..." she croaks, rubs at her eyes.

"I figured you were lying," Blair offers quietly.

Tears pool in Serena's eyes at the soft words, no warning, just wet eyes. "I love Mia," she whispers.

Blair nods once, takes a step towards her, "I know you do."

There's a quiet understanding in Blair's voice, like she knows the things Serena won't ever say; it causes the strangest sensation to hitch in Serena's chest, something too soft for a sob, but strong enough to sweep her breath away.. "I really, really love her…" she defends weakly.

"She's exhausting," Blair says gently as she moves towards the bed. "You're already exhausted."

Serena tries to blink the tears back, but one drips out onto her cheek. "B…" she sighs.

Blair climbs onto the bed beside her and Serena shakes her head, shifts backwards and hides her face in her hands. _Don't comfort me, don't._

"Sweetie," Blair says softly after a long moment, lays a hand on Serena's back. "Did something happen?" She asks.

And Serena feels a hysterical giggle rise up in throat; clamps down on it viciously. "No," she whispers.

Blair's quiet again, rubs soothing circles on Serena's back. "I think something happened," she says quietly after too many seconds of silence.

"No,' Serena repeats, feels a real sob rising in her throat now.

"So you're not upset?" Blair prods carefully.

She exhales slowly, "No."

"And you're not crying?"

"No…"

"And you were telling the truth about wanting to play with Mia?"

"N-" she catches herself, clamps her lips shut.

Blair's hand slides into Serena's short hair, brushing the ends back, fingertips rubbing at the back of her head, "Tell me what happened, S."

Serena can't help herself; she turns into Blair abruptly, curls against her, the sob breaking free. Blair makes a soft shushing sound, like she would to Mia, hugs her close. "Shh, it's okay... it's okay..." she soothes, rocking her a little.

"I'm sorry-" Serena confesses, "I- I love you," she says tightly, tears spilling, "I _love_ you..." _I did it for you, for us._

"I know," Blair presses a kiss to the side of Serena's head, "I know. I love you too. You're okay... we're okay."

Serena squeezes her eyes shut tightly, holds back more sobs and more words, more confessions.

"Mood swings are normal." Blair smoothes her hair gently, hands framing her face, "It's part of why I wanted you to stay with us."

"Blair..." she breathes; can't argue that right now, just… _can't._

"But you're not staying with us," the brunette rushes on, "And so you have to handle it on your own," she encourages, "Without taking extra pills."

Serena sighs, "I didn't mean to-" she lifts her gaze, meets Blair's eyes because in this at least, she's telling the truth, "I really didn't mean to do any... harm."

Blair licks her lips, nods, and something eases in her expression; her gaze, "Yeah," she whispers, "Of course…" she swipes her thumbs across Serena's wet cheeks, offers her a tiny smile, "And on the bright side, doctor says since you're not in a coma, there's probably no harm done."

Serena cringes, "B," she says quietly, can hear the strain in the other's voice.

Blair leans forward then, touches their foreheads together. "I _need_ you to be careful," Blair says seriously, holding Serena's gaze for the moment, "I need it so much."

"I am…" Serena whispers, "I didn't mean to- to scare you."

Blair's lips press together for a moment and then she's hugging Serena again, tighter this time. "I believe you," she says after a long time of just holding her.

Serena holds still for the hug; closes her eyes and presses her cheek against Blair's arm, listens to the others breathing and knows, _knows_, if she could tell Blair – everything would be okay. Because it always is, everything is too big, impossibly big and heavy, until she tells Blair; and then everything is okay. Then Blair fixes it.

But she can't tell Blair. She _won't._

She'll have to fix this one on her own.

"Aun' 'eena! Look! _Look_!" Mia demands, pushes the pieces of paper into Serena's hands.

"It's a perfect…" Serena falters, shoots Blair a quick look.

The brunette shrugs, tilts her head as she examines the page of scribbled of drawings, "Trainwreck?"

"B!" Serena giggles. Mia looks between them, giggles too; tucking herself in tighter against Serena's side. The doctor had come and gone, put her through the routine of walk the line, touch your nose, read this for me, and left leaving behind his usual instructions. She'd had her soup in bed and been allowed up and to sit on the couch with Mia for the last half hour, as long as she promised to speak up as soon as she felt tired.

"What?" Blair shrugs.

"It's a perfect…" Serena tries again, turns the paper over.

Mia giggles again, points a little finger at the page. "There! 'ere!"

"A perfect…"

"Storm!" Nate announces with a grin as he walks back out into the living room.

Mia's head lifts from Serena's chest when Nate speaks, "Daadyyy!" She squeals.

Blair rolls her eyes, lifts an eyebrow at Nate. "Did you finish?"

"I did," he nods, shifts his gaze to Serena as he hold his arms out to Mia, "What else?"

She takes a quick, deep breath and then lifts her eyes from Mia's drawing.

The little girl is kicking her feet up as Nate holds her briefly above his head, it's a distracting all-too-common image. She swallows hard, "Um, I think that's it…" she looks around slowly, "You unpacked everything…" luckily she'd already unpacked the things she didn't need Nate riffling through. "Thank you."

He nods, brings Mia in against his chest. "Yeah, sure." He bounces the baby in his arms, Mia giggles, points at the page in Serena's hand, "'ree! T'ee, Daddy!"

Nate leans over Serena to peer at the picture, "Perfect tree, baby," he coos.

Serena breathes out, forces a smile, "Oh sure, a tree..." she glances at Blair, "Why didn't we see that?"

"Because Nate's the one with the mentality of a two-year-old?" Blair offers with a grin.

"Don't be jealous of my imagination." He sticks his tongue out at her.

Serena doesn't look between them; makes sure to miss the moment they share. In a lot of ways its a familiar feeling, a call-back to their childhood, when Nate and Blair had first become NateandBlair. It's a feeling she should not have let herself forget.

"'gain! 'gain!" Mia squeals, launches herself over Serena's shoulder, towards her lap, with that instinctive trust of knowing someone would catch her.

"Hey, whoa..." Nate puts a hand to her middle, slows her descent as Serena lifts her arms back, receives the little girl with open arms.

Mia snuggles against Serena again, lays a little hand flat against a sheet of paper and then turns it upwards, wiggles her little fingers. Serena obliges, puts a red marker in the girl's grasp.

"Last one, Mia..." Blair warns and the girl nods her head without looking up. Blair touches Serena's shoulder then, voice dropping a little, "You're sure you don't want to come over? Spend the night?"

"I'm sure." Serena smiles, "I feel fine..." she cuts her gaze to Blair, "Well-rested."

Blair frowns in response. "Not funny."

"A little funny," Serena teases, nudges her in the ribs lightly and bats her lashes, "Lil' bit…" her smile widens.

Blair's lips quirk upwards a bit, "You're a riot."

"Let's order pizza," Nate suggests cheerfully, he's watching them from behind sofa; is already pulling his phone out.

"But Blair made soup," Serena says dryly, does her best to keep a straight face. She'd had half a bowl of Blair's soup, not said a word, because Blair had _made_ it for her and it was the thought that counted... not the taste.

"And it was a delicious soup," Nate said, lips stretching into a smile for his wife, "Full of _nutrition_," he adds, eyes on her.

Blair's chin lifts a little, "I followed the recipe to the letter."

"All the letters, B?" Serena wonders, watches Mia's little hand as it scribbles out a drawing.

"You didn't add letters?" Nate prods, phone to his ear.

Blair huffs, glances between them with narrowed eyes, "This is precisely why I don't cook."

Serena can't hold back her smile, "Because of letters?" She teases.

Blair rolls her eyes, "Do you feel up for pizza?" She asks Serena.

"I… could, maybe." She shrugs, "I'm not really hungr—"

"Yeah, but when you see the pizza you will be," Nate nods sagely, "It'll happen…"

"Or Nate will just eat it all," Blair smiles, "Which might be his master plan."

"I do not have a master plan! I am just thinking that dinner migh- hi, yes, I'd like to place an order for delivery…" he makes a face at them before turning away and moving to one of the windows, speaking quietly into the phone.

"I guess we're going to stay for bit longer," Blair says wryly, hooks her arm through Serena's. Mia wiggles in between them, glances at her Mother, "Longer?" She chirps.

Blair laughs softly, runs a hand through her baby's hair, "Yes, Amelia. Longer."

"Hm." Mia nods, "More color!" She declares and turns back to the page.

They smile at each other over her head and Blair shifts even closer, enough to rest her head on Serena's shoulder. "You don't mind if we stay?"

Serena licks her lips, relaxes into Blair a little, and closes her eyes. "Of course not," she whispers.

Blair kisses her temple quickly and Nate comes back to announce that he's successfully provided for them.

"By ordering pizza?" Blair questions wryly and Serena doesn't have to open her eyes to see the lift of an eyebrow.

"Blair," Nate says seriously and Serena can hear him going around the sofa, he'll sit on Blair's other side, she knows. "It qualifies," he adds when he's settled.

"Nate." Blair returns in the same tone, "Cop out."

"Serena loves pizza," he counters and his arm goes around Blair, but his hand comes up touching the back of Serena's hair. He rubs at it gently, "It's food of the Turtles."

Her lips tilt in a smile, but she's careful not to lean into his touch. "He has a point, B…" she says instead.

"Your mutual belief that, that's an argument to your benefit is quaint." Blair's voice is ringing with a restrained smile and Serena presses her lips together tightly, focus on the feel of the marker through the paper Mia has rested on her leg.

"_You_ got me the DVD set." Nate teases.

"An error in judgment I've _paid_ for…"

"Mia loves the Ninja Turtles!" Nate defends, his arm moves, she feels the air move as he slides a hand down to tug at the baby's hair gently.

"Turtles!" Mia chirps, but doesn't move.

"She's humoring you," Blair giggles, "Our _two-year-old._"

Nate laughs. "Come on Serena, back me up – Ninja Turtles, awesome."

Serena breathes out slowly, takes a cue from Mia and doesn't move, keeps her eyes closed and her head tilted away from him, near Blair's. "I think-" she offers quietly, curls her fingers into her palm, "I think I'll stay out of this one…"

She needs to stay out of… them.

Blair's hold on her arm tightens a little and then she huffs a quiet laugh, turns her head. "You're on your own…" she teases Nate.

And Serena doesn't need to open her eyes to see the playful look they're sharing right now either; she clenches them a bit more, but that doesn't help either.

* * *

The knock at the door startles her. She glances at the clock, it's only been fifteen minutes, Blair had said at least an hour. Serena sighs, she really hates being checked up on. She dries her hands on the dishrag and moves away from the sink. The knock comes again before she's reached the door and she frowns, "I'm coming, B..." she frowns at the door, raises her voice to be heard on the other side, "You know, you don't have to trick me into-"

But her mouth snaps shut when she swings the door open.

Chuck's standing there, an amused look on his face. "But I do so love tricks," he says snidely.

"Chuck..." she blinks, surprised.

"Hmh," he nods, brushes past her into the apartment, "You were expecting someone else?"

She clears her throat, shuts the door behind him. "I was, actually."

"Lucky you it's _actually_ me." He smirks at her over his shoulder.

She rolls her eyes, "Shouldn't you be doing..." she waves a hand in the air, "Whatever it is you do on weekends?"

"Visiting with the sick and less fortunate," he says dryly, kicks at her sofa lightly before setting his briefcase down on it, "Which I am doing..."

She frowns, moves to sit on the armrest. "What do you want, Chuck?"

"It's not what I want that I'm here about," he says easily, strolls around her living area. The boxes and mess are mostly put away now, furniture set-up and throw pillows arranged, thanks to Nate and Blair's visit, but there's still a look of distaste on his face.

Serena's mouth opens to snap, _what_ when he stares at the daisy clock she has on the wall like it's offensive somehow; and then his words register. Her breath catches for a moment, mouth hanging open.

He turns his attention to the lamp she's set up on an end table. "Did you find this by a roadside?"

"Al- already?" She croaks out, ignores his question; it'd only been three days. She hadn't let herself believe it would be that fast, that easy.

"I do employ professionals, Serena."

She licks her lips, "You have the file? His file?"

Chuck opens his mouth; and a crash in the other room makes them both jump.

"Mia!" Serena puts a hand to her heart and rushes towards her bedroom. She's forgotten. She'd forgotten Mia was here, she was watching Mia for an hour – no more than an hour, Blair had said.

The little girl is up from her nap, standing in her playpen, little hands folded behind her and wide blue eyes fixed on Serena's dresser, where her stuffed dinosaur is lying sideways – having knocked over serveral perfume bottles – after he was presumably thrown there.

"Mia..." Serena says, breathes out. She didn't _really_ forget, she tells herself. She had just not thought of the little girl for a few minutes, just the minutes Chuck had been there – which weren't very many at all. "Mia," she says again, puts a thread of sternness in her voice as her glances at the mess on her dresser, moves towards it.

"Aun' Reena!" Mia beams up at her, holds up both arms to be picked up.

"Why is Rex over here?" She wonders, lifts the dinosaur out of the mess. Nothing is broken, she notes with relief. The last thing she needs is to worry about getting the stuffed animal cleaned.

"Rex bad." Mia says with utmost sincerity.

"Oh is he?" She turns to the little girl, holds back a smile.

Mia nods, bats at her bangs, "Yes."

"Maybe Rex needs to sit in the playpen for a little while then, until he knows not to throw himself at things." She holds the dinosaur out to Mia, who takes him with curious look on her face, she hugs him to her and then drops him on the floor of pen, lifts her arms up again.

"Rex stay, Mia play!"

"Mia should tell Rex not to throw things," Serena says, feels her smile breaking free.

"Rex bad," Mia repeats, inches her arms a little higher. "Out, Aun' Reena! Out!"

"Mia needs to stay with Rex, for—"

"No! No, no, no! Out! Play!" She jumps up and down on her little feet, face scrunching up in a wobby expression.

"Mia, you can't throw-"

"Rex did!" She pouts, hangs an arm off the side of the playpen, hand outstretched, "Out, Aunt 'eena!" She wiggles her fingers pleadingly.

"I believe the child wants to be let out," Chuck offers from the doorway.

Serena shoots him a scowl, "I've got this Chuck."

"Oh?" He motions towards Mia. The little girl has fallen silent, the pout frozen on her face as she studies Chuck, "So that expression, the near-tears? That's what you were going for?"

"Ouuuut..." Mia wails, sidling towards him in the playpen, sensing a new ally. Her head tips to the side, bottom lip quivering a little, "Outttt..."

Chuck frowns at her.

And Serena sighs, "Hey, hey... come on Mimsi-Mia, don't—"

"Out! Out!" Tears well up in her eyes, "_Out!_."

"Aww Mia..." Serena huffs softly, "Okay, okay... come here..." she calls, opens her arms to the little girl.

Mia takes a shuddery breath, blinks up at Chuck for another beat, and then turns to Serena, "Aun' Ree..." she whimpers.

Serena lifts her up, holding the little girl to her chest. "Okay, shhh. I know. I know... Rex bad."

"Born manipulator," Chuck sighs, smirking a little.

Serena rolls her eyes and ignores him as he walks past him into the living room. "Let's have juice, Mimsi..." she coos, rubs the little girl's back.

Mia nods her chin against Serena's shoulder, blinks wide blue eyes at Chuck as he follows them. He gives her the same smirk he'd given Serena and the little girl hides her face against her aunt's cheek shyly.

"Don't make faces or speak to her," Serena announces to Chuck, "She's a baby. You don't get to taint her for… _ever_," she decides, sets Mia on the counter and beams at her, "Sit still."

Mia nods.

"I have seen the child before, you realize," Chuck comments, watches Serena pull a sippy cup from the refrigerator.

"Uh-huh. Did she have hair then?"

Chuck frowns again, makes a motion with his hand, "I… believe so."

Mia takes the cup from Serena with both hands, sends Chuck another curious look, before taking a sip. Serena brushes baby fine hair from her face, tucks strands behind her ear.

"You babysit their child?" Chuck questions a moment later.

And Serena shoots him a laser hot glare without sparing a thought, "_Don't_," she snaps.

He holds both arms up in a sign of peace, "Just a question."

"Aun' Reena…" Mia kicks out a leg lightly, lips still around the spout of the cup, "Who…?" She points at Chuck.

Serena blows out a quick breath, smiles at the little girl. "That would be Chuck," she scoops the girl up into her arms, props her against her hip. "She doesn't even know you," she rolls her eyes at Chuck.

He shrugs, "That is hardly my fault. Infants have shoddy memories."

"She's almost three."

He doesn't reply and she turns away from him, moves to the armchair with Mia. "Do you want to do a puzzle, Mimsi-Mi?" She asks, sweetly. Mia's head has dropped to her shoulder, a little hand fisting around the sleeve of Serena's shirt.

"Mhm," she nods, still clutching the sippy cup to her mouth.

"I'll have you know," Chuck drawls, circling towards them slowly, "I resent your intrusion upon what has been hereto my territory."

Serena takes a slow deep breath as she pulls out a puzzle from the drawer under the coffee table. _Patience,_ she thinks. "What, Chuck?" She says evenly.

"You don't see me being openly self-destructive do you?"

She sets Mia down on the armchair's cushion and dumps the block puzzle out in front of her, "Do you think you can fix it?" She wonders playfully, "Put it back together?"

Mia nods, pulls the cup from her mouth and picks up a block.

Serena drops a kiss on the top of her head, "Good girl." There's a moment when she stands, that the room does a shaky thing at the edges of her vision and she has to lower her head for a beat, wait for it to pass.

"What…" she pushes the word out, "Are you babbling about?"

He pauses, studying her for a moment; anyone else would have asked already, _are you okay,_ not him. He lifts a hand, "Masochism doesn't suit you."

For a moment she's thankful for that. And then she hears him, frowns, "Masochi-"

He looks pointedly at Mia and Serena's mouth snaps shut. "Don't talk about things you don't understand," she warns quietly.

"I understand perfectly."

"You'd need emotions for that," she hisses, lashing out before he can get too close. Before he says something that snips at the threads of this life she's binding together ever so carefully.

"Touche," he murmurs, inclines his head slightly to one side; his dark eyes stay on her face for a moment, before he motions to the sofa, "To business, then?"

* * *

.tbc.


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Gossip Girl."

**Author's Note**: This chapter is mostly CS with cameos by Blair and Mia. Thank you all for reading and for the comments and reviews! I appreciate them. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

Serena takes a sharp breath; it'd slipped her mind for a moment – and there's a burn of shame that follows on the heels of that realization. She looks away from Chuck, presses her lips together and reminds herself to just breathe, just takes this one moment at a time, and it would work out. Even if nothing else had, this would.

She glances down at Mia, "I'm going to watch you from over there, sweetie…" she tells her softly.

"Watch!" Mia demands, tilting her head back.

"I will," Serena promises, moving around the coffee table to the sofa, "From over here."

Mia eyes her suspiciously, "I do! You watch."

"I'm watching." Serena assures, sits down with down with her eyes on Mia. The little girl liked for people to watch her accomplishments, "Go on…" Serena prompts.

Mia nods, pick up a star-shaped block and turns it around in her hands, momentarily satisfied.

Chuck sits at the other end of the sofa, places his briefcase on the table's hard surface and cracks it open. "I'd recommend not perusing this in detail, considering the company you're expecting."

Serena sits on the edge of the cushion, "Just give it to me."

Chuck sends her a serious look for a moment and then retrieves a crisp looking manila folder from inside his case. It's about an inch thick, binder clips showing through the rubber band holding it all together. "It's a replica," he tells her, "Exact, I believe."

She holds her hand out; ignore the way it shakes just like he will.

He hands her the folder without another word; they're past warnings now.

She avoids his gaze as she sets it on the cushion to between them, and doesn't let herself think about it. She flips it open.

"Just so you know, I'm not accustomed to illegalities involving children." Chuck states, leaning back and stretching his legs out. "It complicates matters; people are less inclined to view grays."

Serena doesn't hear him. She'd expected a page of statistics, name and age and height and weight; she hadn't expected a five by seven color photo, paper-clipped to the front of that page. She falls still, her eyes widening slowly as she studies the boy her baby grew up to be.

The boy looking back at her from the picture is nothing like what she'd imagined; no almost-too-long blonde hair over his brows, no curious bright blue eyes looking at the camera, no mischievous smile on his lips – and she realizes abruptly, it'd been a version of Nate she'd imagined.

And this boy was no Nate.

He's blue-eyed for sure, but there's no brightness in the way he's glaring at the camera, his hair is buzzed short, almost to the scalp, just a fuzz of blonde hair visible, and there's a set to his jaw, to the slash of his lips, that dissuades thoughts of smiling. He looks angry and there's a reddening bruise along the outside of his left eye.

She touches fingertips to the spot, her gaze frozen on the picture. "What- what is that…?" She finally whispers, mouth dry.

Chuck doesn't answer for a moment; and the silence in the living room stretches, her eyes staring unblinkingly at the boy, memorizing the lines of his face.

"Matthew Rhode Warner," Chuck answers after a beat, "Twelve years old."

"His _face_, Chuck," she hisses, breathes out on a rush of frustrated fear, "What happened to his _face_?"

"I gathered the impression," Chuck answers casually, "From the paperwork I glanced at, that the boy likes to throw punches…" a pause and then he adds wryly, "A bit like his father, I suppose."

Serena's head snaps up to look at him, a scowl on her face, "You're such an asshole."

He shrugs one shoulder, "It's hardly _my_ fault."

"Get out."

He arcs an eyebrow, "Is this how you're going to thank me?"

"If you're going to be-"

"Aun' Ree!" Mia calls throws a block their way, "Look!"

The block bounces off Chuck's knee and he jumps, "Hey!" Rubs at the spot.

Mia giggles. "Aun' Reena!" She calls again, reaches for another block.

"Whoa, no!" Chuck calls, holding a hand out, "Throwing bad!"

She pouts at him and then hurls the block at his head.

"Jeezus," Chuck hisses, dodges the throw. The block bounces off the backrest of the sofa and falls to the floor.

And Serena blows out a breath, her heart is pounding hard in her chest and she feels icy all over, like she's going to be sick.

She needs- she needs to calm down. She makes herself focus on Mia, "I'm looking," she whispers, fingers splaying out over the picture, covering him.

"Done!" Mia announces.

"Are you- are you sure…?" Serena asks, forces her lips into a smile. "I think you're missing…" she points out the two blocks the little girl has thrown, "Two pieces."

Mia considers this, blue eyes seeking the pieces out. "I find," she says seriously and then turns around on the seat, slides down the armchair to the floor.

"You'll _get_," Chuck corrects her; "You already know where they are."

The little girl pauses to look at him and Serena sighs, rubs at her temple with her other hand. "Leave her alone, Chuck."

"I'm _speaking_ to her, Serena. Is that not what you implied I should do?"

Serena frowns at him, doesn't reply, her fingertips smoothing over the picture gently.

Mia turns back to the armchair before retrieving the fallen pieces, picks up the puzzle and then delivers it to Chuck; drops it right onto his lap, "You do!" She beams.

Chuck actually starts, arms moving out to his sides to avoid accidentally touching either her or the puzzle; and the surprised look on his face lifts Serena's mood a fraction.

"No," he says, "No… take that… back."

Mia giggles, pushes the block puzzle into his stomach, "You do…" she nods, glances at Serena with a smile.

"Go get the other pieces for Chuck then, sweetie…" Serena says with a smile, Chuck's obvious discomfort making it a bit more genuine, "So he can do it."

Mia nods emphatically, rushes away, and Chuck shoots Serena a dark glare, "I am not doing a _puzzle,_"

She lifts an eyebrow, "Why not?"

"Because… I'm _not_…" he looks down at it and then takes it and places it quickly on the table by his briefcase.

"It's not infected with SARS, Chuck," Serena rolls her eyes, "It's just a toy."

"Not the sort of toy I'm accustomed to," he drawls.

And she kicks at him for that, "Shut-up."

"I'm just-"

Mia comes around the couch with both blocks in her little hands, she pauses when she sees Chuck's moved the puzzle and then goes to him, puts the blocks directly into his hands before turning to the puzzle, picking it up, and depositing it in his lap again. She smiles, "Now do."

He stares at her for a moment, takes a quick breath, "No."

"Chuck!" Serena hisses at him. "Come here, Mimsi-Mi…" she says more gently, takes the little girl's arm gently and tugs her closer. "He doesn't know how…"

Mia looks up at Serena curiously and Chuck takes the opportunity to put the puzzle back on the coffee table.

"Why don't you do it again and let him watch you," Serena suggests, combs her fingers through the little girl's hair.

Mia glances over at Chuck, smiles at him, "'onky!" She giggles, pointing at him and stepping closer to Serena, "onky!" She leans into Serena's knee, hiding her giggles in the denim of her Aunt's jeans.

"What?" Chuck huffs, "What is she saying?"

Serena shrugs, "Not sure... what, sweetie?"

"_'onky!_" Mia grins, delighted. "Eppy 'onkey!"

"Oh!" Serena's eyes widen in comprehension and she shoots a look at Chuck, feels her own lips tilt up in a smile again. "_Oh,_," she says understandingly, "Eppy's Monkey on the cartoon... that wears a bow-tie," her lips twist in a smirk as she meets Chuck's gaze, "Just like Chuck."

"Eppy!" Mia announces with a nod, "'onky!"

"She's comparing me to a cartoon." Chuck says flatly.

"A cartoon _monkey._" Serena snickers, lifts Mia onto her lap.

His gaze turns to Mia, "I am not- _not,_" he repeats for emphasis," Comparable to a cartoon anything."

Mia puckers her lips and points at him, at his bow tie they both realize. "Me see," she demands, fingers wiggling in the air.

"She wants to see your-"

"_Yes_, Serena, I got that." Chuck snaps, touches fingers to his bow-tie almost protectively. "I think not."

Mia's hand drops, she frowns.

"It's okay, sweetie..." Serena coos, rubs at Mia's back, "Chuck is a grumpy monkey."

The girl's expression clears as she looks to her Aunt, Serena drops a kiss to her nose and Mia giggles.

Chuck's frown deepens, "I am not-"

There's a knock at the door and Chuck's mouth snaps shut. Serena's head lifts from where she's pressing kisses to Mia's face, anxiety jolting through her abruptly. _Blair._

Mia looks at the door expectantly, pushes off Serena's lap; and Serena follows suit, pushing up from the sofa quickly.

She's already taken a step when she remembers the file, turns back, heart pounding again, to see Chuck closing, slipping it back into his briefcase – there's a flash of gratefulness that courses through her and then another knock at the door.

"Serena..." Blair calls and already there's a tinge of panic in her voice.

"Momma!" Mia bounces excitedly to the door.

"Yeah, B, coming..." Serena assures, proud of how steady her voice is as she moves to the door again. She waits another breath, her hand on the doorknob, while Chuck closes the briefcase and places it on the floor by the sofa – mostly out of sight.

She takes a deep breath - _don't think about, don't think about it, don't think about it_ - and it's easier than it should be to do.

She swings the door open with a smile, "Hey, that was fast..."

Blair lifts an eyebrow, but Mia rushes at her mother's legs and Blair looks down at her, "Hello…" she smiles, then glances at Serena, "And it's been almost an hour," she points out, bending down to lift the baby into her arms.

Serena shrugs, moves aside so Blair can walk in. "Went fast..."

Blair hugs Mia to herself, presses a kiss to the little girl's cheek, "Hi, baby..." she murmurs, "Did you have fun with Auntie Ser-" she stops half-way into the living, gaze landing on Chuck, "Oh..." she glances at Serena, "You have company..."

Serena shrugs, breathes out slowly, "Just Chuck."

"Thank you, sis," Chuck drawls, standing from the sofa. "Blair," he greets calmly.

She gives him an easy smile, "Chuck – nice of you check on Serena."

"'onky!" Mia announces, pointing at him again.

And Chuck rolls his eyes. "No."

Blair cuddles Mia a bit closer, "What monkey, Amelia?" She wonders, still smiling.

"There is no monkey." Chuck says seriously.

Serena snorts a little laugh, "The cartoon, Eppy's Episodes... the little monkey friend she has..."

And Blair laughs softly too, "Ah yes... with the bow-tie..." she smiles at her little girl, "Very observant, baby." She commends.

Mia giggles and then shifts in Blair's hold, wanting to be let down. The brunette shakes her head, "Nuh-uh, baby, no. We're going now," she tells her, adjusting her grip to keep Mia steady. "We have to go get you a dress, remember." She turns dark eyes turn to Serena, "Will you be accompanying us?"

Serena freezes, "Uh... I'm not- I don't know if- I-" she fumbles over words, thoughts racing. She can't leave right now, she needs to finish this.

"She has a guest," Chuck drawls, motions to himself, "Are you encouraging rudeness, Blair?"

Blair's smile shifts to him again, not dimming a single notch, but her gaze hardens. "What are you doing here, Chuck?"

"I believe that's between me and my dear sis," he retorts, smirking a little.

Blair's gaze narrows on him, "Serena-"

"We're planning something," Serena lies, "For my Mom…" It's really the only thing she and Chuck have in common.

"You're planning something?" Skepticism drips from Blair's voice.

And Serena cringes, this needs to go better, she has to hide this better or it's all over before she's even begun it, "Yeah," she laughs a little, gives a tiny shrug, "She was complaining at lunch the other day she never sees us all together." She glances at Chuck, "I mentioned it to Chuck."

"And here I am," he says expansively, playing along.

Blair looks between them for a moment and then rolls her eyes, "Alright then," she shrugs, "Mia's coat in your room?" She wonders, already moving in that direction.

"Yup," Serena nods.

When she's out of the room, Chuck sends Serena a sidelong glance, _"Smooth,"_ he taunts.

She hisses, "Shut-up," back, without even looking at him.

"I suppose travel abroad dulled your ability to-"

"_Shut-up_, Chuck."

Blair walks back into the room before he can respond. "What are you considering?" She asks, Mia's propped on her hip and the little girl's jacket is draped over one of her arms; she doesn't _seem_ suspicious, but Serena keeps her guard up – Blair's attacks are calculated and sudden.

"Um… not sure yet," she glances at Chuck, "We haven't gotten around to… discussing, yet…" The truth. There should be truth in your lies.

Blair nods, her attention on getting a wriggling Mia into her jacket. "Well, if you need help let me know."

"Organizing a simplistic family brunch is not out of my capabilities, Blair," Chuck offers amusedly.

She sends him a quick look, "I was speaking to _Serena_."

He lifts an eyebrow, "Even _Serena_ can-"

"Mama, no…" Mia whines, tries to pull her arm out of the sleeve, "No, stay… no."

Blair stares hard at Chuck for a moment and Serena sees a flash of wariness cross her friends expression before her gaze turns back to her daughter. "We're going shopping," Blair tells the little girl, "It's going to be so much fun…" she encourages, wrapping the jacket tight around Mia's middle. "You're going to be the prettiest one there…"

Serena licks her lips. "She always is."

Blair glances up at her, "Mm."

"Why don't-" she finds her voice catches a little with Blair's dark eyes on her face. She clears her throat, "Why don't we have lunch tomorrow? You can show me what you bought?"

"Can't tomorrow," Blair says, eyes back on Mia as she buttons the coat. "Meeting through lunch; but I'll call you after…"

She straightens finally and Mia picks at the buttons with a disapproving look on her face. "You can come for dinner… or we'll bring it to you."

_We._ Serena holds back her sigh and nods, smiles. "Sure."

"Afraid I won't make it," Chuck smirks at Blair, "Thank you for the invitation," he adds snidely.

Serena opens her mouth to intervene before any possible insults are exchanged, but Blair's response is swifter and softer than she'd expected. "You're invited if you want to be," she says carefully and lifts Mia into her arms, before facing him, "You know that."

Chuck's smirk falters and for a moment and the room is quiet. "Right." Chuck says after a long moment, "Well, I can't."

She nods. "We're off then…" she states, looking between them.

Serena pulls in a deep breath and nods, moves towards her. "I'll talk to you later," she says, kisses Blair's cheek, "Thank you for staying with me, Mimsi-Mi!" She says to Mia, tickles her a little as he presses a kiss to the baby's brow.

Mia giggles, squirming into Blair, and giving her Aunt a wide smile.

"Say goodbye, Amelia," Blair instructs and flashes them both a quick smile.

"Bye!" Serena encourages, waves her hand as she moves to open the door for them.

Mia giggles and echoes, "Bye! Bye!" as she waves her little hand. Serena stands at the door and waves back until they get in the elevator and disappear from sight.

When she turns back into the room, Chuck is staring at the floor intently; looking pensive and she sighs, rubs at her face. "You make it harder than it has to be. We're all… still friends; you shouldn't try to antagonize her."

He lifts his head to look at her. "Maybe I should offer to babysit more," he says flatly.

Her gaze narrows. "That is not what I meant."

"Your deluded ideas of friendship don't apply to me Serena, so don't bother." He snaps, turns away from her and back to the sofa. "Can we get this over with now?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He puts the briefcase back on the center table, "Your deluded ideas about your _friendship_ with the Archibald's or your deluded ideas about this kid who's life you want to tip over – take your pick."

She flinches, can't help it. "Just leave it and go," she hisses, hates herself for the sting of tears behind her eyes; for the truth in his words. She doesn't give her relationship with Blair or Nate too much thought; takes it on the surface for what it has to be – they're her friends and she loves them. _Them, them, them._

And this, Matthew, she can't-

He rolls his eyes. "Sit down."

"Chu-"

"I have a proposition for you."

She blows out a breath. "I don't need anything from you besides what you've already done."

"You need my silence." He says simply.

The air goes out of her lungs; she can't breathe — he _would_.

"Sit." He says again, motions to the spot she'd vacated when Blair had arrived.

And Serena does as he orders, feels shaky enough to need to sit.

He slides a vaguely resentful look at her when she settles down. "You know, if you're going to pale and appear on the verge of fainting every time I hint at a threat, this is going to be much less fun."

"This isn't- it's not a game." She whispers hoarsely, "Don't… make it one."

"Everything's a game, S," he says seriously, "If you can find your angle, you can win. You know that."

"Not this," she tucks a strand of her short hair behind her ear, takes a slow, deep breath. "There's no winning… I just-" she cuts herself off, rubs at her face. She wants to everyone to survive it.

Chuck doesn't respond. Instead he pulls the binder on Matthew out again, sets it on the table beside the case and then retrieves another folder. "Tell me what you plan to do with the information I'm giving you." It's not a question.

And Serena takes the folder in her hands, sets it on her lap without opening it. She lifts her gaze to his and doesn't reply, doesn't need to say it - they both know.

His jaw clenches, eyes hardening. "You'd risk everything."

"No one has to know," she says quietly, so quietly it's almost to herself. They're the words she's been repeating in hear heart for days now, _nobody has to know_. She could bring him home and make him hers and nobody ever had to _know_

Chuck sets the second folder on her lap, opens it over the first. "I have a less volatile alternative."

Serena watches him for a moment longer; before glancing down at her lap, she takes a look at the first page. Then a look at the second and then the third; she flips through them quickly – they're legal documents, and Matthew's name is all over them. "What is this…?"

"Just preliminary documents," Chuck explains carefully, leans towards her a bit, "For a trust… Set up in his name. We can have everything finalized by the end of next week."

She looks up at him, surprised.

"Hire a board, set up terms, a monthly stipend; he could be at one of the best boarding schools in the world by the first of next month."

Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

"Anonymous benefactor, distant relative, something his parent's set-up even, that took this long to go into effect – we can make it anything you want; set it up until he's eighteen or twenty-one or twenty-five..."

There's a thread of something almost like pleading in Chuck's voice and she bites the inside of her cheek, feels a lump forming in her throat. "Chuck…" she pushes his name past dry lips, lets her gaze fall to the paperwork again.

"It's the best solution, Serena," he tells her calmly after a moment of silence. "If you must do this, involve yourself in this child's life, this is the cleanest way. I'll have it done discreetly; it will never lead back to you, to any of us… and he'd be taken care of."

Her chest feels tight and there's a headache pulsing at the back of her head, because he's right. She could do this, she could see him taken of and it would be- clean, neat.

"No." The word breaks free before she's let herself consider anything more. "No… that's not-" she breathes out slowly, "He's not paperwork for me to sign, Chuck."

"He's a powder keg waiting to go off," Chuck corrects her.

She lifts her gaze to his face, locks her gaze with his. "I can't do it again; I can't just… look away."

"You're not. You'd be doing what a hundred parents in positions of political and social power do every year. You'd be giving him the best education, the best of everything."

"I'd be running away from it, sweeping it under the rug again. Because it's easier and neater and my life could go on without a hitch," the words tumble out of her mouth, "Because I could take care of it with a signature and nobody would know… Id' be- I'd be ignoring it… ignoring that- that he's- I'm his mother..." her voice trails off at the end and she stares at Chuck, implores him to understand that.

He presses his lips together, shifts closer to her on the sofa. "You're not looking at this properly," he says tensely, "That boy had a mother and she is dead, Serena. What you can do here is provide him with-"

"I want to bring him here," she interrupts, says it out loud for the first time. "What I want to _provide_ him with is a home, a family. Okay? I want- I want him."

He stares at her in silence and she sets her jaw stubbornly; she won't take it back, she won't change her mind.

"That's all very _sweet_, Serena." He drawls; and the thread of mockery in his voice makes her stiffen. "But in reality, you're a New York City based, high society model-slash-socialite known for partying and the occasional recreational drug usage. He's a foster kid in Oregon. Whatever concoction you've drummed up in your slightly concussed brain is going to be toppled over by the media in week one."

She glowers at him, "You're really an asshole you know that."

"This is not about me."

"Exactly," she spits, "It's my life. I'm not asking you to care."

His gaze narrows. "Your _life_ reflects itself in Bass Inc. at the most inopportune moments," he snaps. "The last thing I need is a potential client bringing up the train wreck that is my _sister_."

"Disown me then," she hisses and blurts, "I'm going to adopt him." She ignores the insult; it's meant to work her up, to distract her from the real point here – her son.

He rears back like she slapped him. "You're an idiot."

"No one has to-"

"But they _will_," he interrupts with a rough sigh, "Take another look at the picture, Serena. He's got a horrendous haircut and may likely require dental work someday, but he _is_ Nathaniel's son. The resemblance is there and more than that, how long before someone digging around into why one of Manhattan's princesses decided to adopt a twelve-year-old finds it?"

She sets the folders on table, wrings her hands together a little. "So we'll… hide it better."

"There's no _we_," Chuck huffs, "I didn't sign up to help you do this; this is…" he pushes up from the sofa, paces in front of her. "You can't just adopt a kid." He tells her finally, stops in front of her.

She tips her head back slowly to look at him, mindful of the headache that's still threatening. "I'll foster him first."

"There are laws." He says tightly. "He's across the country… do you not see how obvious this is?"

"I see tha-"

"The trust is a better solu-"

"Chuck!" She stands from the sofa; too fast, the room circles around her and it takes a moment for her to focus her gaze on him, but she glares when she does, "_No_," she says emphatically, "I'm not- that's not what I'm doing. I'm… bringing him here."

And he's been trying to change her mind this whole time; from the moment he walked in, because he knew her enough to know what she'd wanted, maybe from the moment she'd asked for the information, he'd known this is what it would lead to. Just like she knew he'd do this, try to talk her out of it, but not actually deny her.

So when he leans back the slightest bit, his expression clearing, his eyes going flat; she braces herself, knows his final effort might draw blood.

"It isn't Blair that won't forgive you."

The words are soft; he doesn't need them to be anything but for them to have his desired effect. She flinches, feels tears burn behind her eyes.

The quiet stretches between them and she realizes belatedly - that's all he has to say, nothing else; and she takes a shuddery breath, looks away from him. She brings a hand to her face and rubs at one of her cheeks, at her eyes, presses the pad of her palm against one of her brows.

It's almost enough, because it's the truth. Because Blair will tear her life to shreds but then help her put it back together, a little worse for wear, scorched at the edges, but whole. Because it's Nate, who never turns family away and shies away from a lie and looks at his daughter like he's never loved so much before, who'll never-

She blows out a breath and snuffs the thought out; she's practiced at not thinking about Nate.

It's almost enough, but not quite. "No one ever has to know," she repeats, clings to the words.

Chuck presses his lips together, "You honestly believe that."

Serena stills for a moment and then lowers herself back into the sofa slowly, curls her legs underneath herself and reaches out for the folders. She tips the trust documentation shut, moves it away so she can open Matthew's folder, can look at the picture. There's a lot here she has to read; and to get this she might need a lawyer. She'll need a story to give the press, a story to give Blair, her mother.

She touches fingertips to the photo again, answers, "Yes." She has to believe that.

She keeps her eyes on the picture even when the couch dips when as Chuck takes his seat again. "I suppose you want me to orchestrate all of this."

Her fingers follow the outline of the picture; take in the gray hoodie and the slightest pucker to his bottom lip. "I can do it…" she whispers, feels her lips tilt a bit at the corners even as she says it because- "If you tell me how."

He scoffs and she breathes out, looks up at him.

He's watching her, relaxed into the corner of the sofa. "How about I coordinate the further shrouding of your youthful misjudgments and fostering of your biological son and you organize the function we have to host for Lily."

"Hm…" she gives him a tiny half-smile and extends her leg, pokes his knee with her toes, "Sounds fair."

* * *

**.tbc.**


End file.
